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Deception and Democracy in Classical Athens
Deception and Democracy in Classical Athens
Deception and Democracy in Classical Athens
ab
Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, So Paulo
Cambridge University Press
The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge , United Kingdom
Published in the United States by Cambridge University Press, New York
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Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521643221
Jonathon P. Hesk 2000
This book is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of
relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place
without the written permission of Cambridge University Press.
First published in print format 2000
ISBN-13
ISBN-10
Contents
Preface
Prologue
The argument
Approaches and methods
Ancient and modern
page vii
1
3
6
14
20
23
40
51
64
85
86
89
102
107
122
143
145
151
163
179
188
202
204
209
215
219
227
231
vi
Contents
Epilogue
Bibliography
Index locorum
General index
242
242
248
258
274
289
292
299
321
330
Preface
This book is substantially revised and expanded from its original incarnation as my Cambridge Ph.D. thesis begun in 1991 and there are
many debts of gratitude to record for help and support with the project
since then. But there are people who deserve thanks for inspiration and
teaching long before I started the thesis, particularly Andrew Wilson
(formerly of Bedford Modern School) and Ewen Bowie (in Oxford).
The thesis was supervised by Simon Goldhill: my warmest thanks to
him for intellectual stimulation, patience, humour, good advice and for
not putting up with any rubbish. Several scholars read and usefully
criticised drafts of chapters which are still in this book, providing encouragement along the way: thanks to Richard Hunter, John Henderson, Malcolm Schoeld, Helen Morales and Paul Cartledge. My Ph.D.
examiners were Richard Buxton and Paul Millett: their comments,
criticisms and advice were most helpful and much-appreciated.
More recently, I have received friendly advice from Stephen Halliwell: thanks to him for reading the rst three chapters and for boosting
my condence. I must also thank the three anonymous readers appointed by Cambridge University Press for swift and extremely good
advice on structure, tone and content. Audiences in Oxford, Exeter,
London, Bristol, Washington, Glasgow and St Andrews have heard and
given useful responses to seminar papers containing material which
ended up in this book. The participants in the Classics Faculty literary
seminars in Cambridge between 1991 and 1998 were particularly
stimulating and I gained enhanced perspectives from presenting
material to a distinguished international audience at a colloquium on
`Performance Culture and Athenian Democracy' held at King's College, Cambridge in July 1996.
Much of the research conducted for this book was made possible by
a British Academy state studentship. When that money ran out, I
received nancial assistance from King's College's Supplementary
Exhibition Fund, the Cambridge Faculty of Classics, the Cambridge
University Jebb Fund and my grandmother Evelyn Hesk. I should
vii
viii
Preface
also thank the Master and Fellows of St. John's College, Cambridge for
electing me to a Research Fellowship in 1995 and thereby enabling me
to nish the thesis and begin this book. Since my appointment as a
lecturer at St Andrews, friends and colleagues in the School of Greek,
Latin and Ancient History have been extremely supportive: thanks
especially to Stephen Halliwell and Harry Hine for taking a few hours
of teaching o my plate when I needed some crucial days of uninterrupted writing.
Pauline Hire, my editor, has been extremely patient and kind. I oer
her many thanks for ecient handling of editing and publication. It is a
real privilege to have had the benet of her guidance, experience and
good advice for my rst book. My copy-editor, Linda Woodward has
also been excellent and has saved me from many errors.
Over the years, so many friends have helped me to keep going. I
cannot thank them all individually here but they should know who they
are. Jenny Young deserves a special thankyou for putting up with and
sustaining me and for proof-reading various drafts.
Finally, I wish to oer love and thanks to my parents, John and
Glenis Hesk, for all their support over many years. They have always
taken an intense interest in my work and I could not have started or
nished this study without their constant and unconditional love. The
book is dedicated to them.
I should point out that I have not been able to take full account of
relevant scholarly material published since 1997: after that date, my
references are selective and conned to those works which have been
easily available, have come to my attention and whose relevance to my
arguments has been high enough to require consideration.
Prologue
Liman seemed sympathetic to North for having taken an unanticipated fall. But
while presumably disarming North with this tactic, he was also drawing from
the witness repeated acknowledgements that his behaviour in lying and deceiving was in violation of the Naval Academy's values of honour and trustworthiness that he had sworn to uphold as a midshipman.1
Now Nields would try to lecture North: In certain communist countries the
government's activities are kept secret from the people. But that's not the way
we do things in America, is it?2
A man can do you no greater injustice than tell lies. For in a political system
based on speeches, how can it be safely administered if the speeches are not
true?3
Prologue
The argument
origin of the `noble lie' in the writings of a thinker whom most critics
would still characterise as out of sympathy with, or at least disillusioned with, the ideals, structures and practices of the democratic
society of which he was a member.10 Brian Vickers, who draws heavily
on Popper's views, has mapped Plato's attack on rhetorical theory and
practice in democratic Athens onto Plato's authoritarian philosophy.11
Where Plato sees the use of rhetoric in Athens' assembly and lawcourts
as a case of the ignorant few manipulating the ignorant masses, Vickers
views rhetorical discourse as the life blood of open debate, pluralism
and democracy. Plato is again indicted, not only for his totalitarianism,
but for initiating the traditional denigration of rhetoric as a medium for
deceptive communication and falsehood.
Vickers and Popper construe Plato's attack on sophistry and rhetoric
as hypocritical. On the one hand, Plato champions truth and philosophy through a condemnation of the lies of contemporary politicians
and rhetorical theorists. On the other, his moral and political vision,
along with the persuasive strategies of his Socrates, give pride of place
to the notion that it is acceptable and necessary for the right leaders to
tell the right lies to the people. Vickers echoes Aristotle and the Platonic Gorgias when he points out that rhetoric can be used for good or
evil ends and that it is no dierent from any other form of knowledge in
this respect.12 His commitment lies with the deployment of rhetoric `in
a state where free speech is still possible'.13 He insists that while rhetoric can be deployed in any constitutional system, it is more important
to `understand what rhetoric really can do in the right hands at the
right time'.14
The argument
One of the aims of this study is to demonstrate that the theoretical
denigration of rhetoric as a deceptive technology and the conception of
the political `noble lie' cannot be characterised as a solely `totalitarian'
10 For Plato as an `intellectual critic' of democracy see Ober (1998) and, from a specically rhetorical perspective, Yunis (1996). Von Reden and Goldhill (1999) discuss the
`oblique and dicult relations between Platonic dialogue and the polis' (284).
11 Vickers (1988) 83147.
12 See Pl. Grg. 456c6457c3; Arist. Rh. 1.1355b17. Grimaldi (1980) 301 notes the
parallel between these passages. See also Garver (1994) 221.
13 Vickers (1988) viii. Contrast the polemical essay of Fish (1994) 10219. Fish argues
that appeals to and endorsements of the notion of `free speech' can never escape the
bind of restricting certain arguments or forms of speech. Fish's `neo-pragmatism' is not
free of `ideology' or `rhetoric' however: see the excellent critique of Norris (1992) 126
58 and my brief comments below.
14 Vickers (1988) viii.
Prologue
or purely Platonic strategy. Nor is Plato's desire to subordinate rhetorical practice to the goals of political and ethical `truths' and `goods'
completely original to him or solely the product of his anti-democratic
agenda. Rather, the emergence of these ideas about rhetoric and deceit
can be located in political, legal and cultural discourses which dened
Athenian democracy itself.
Modern attempts to separate rhetoric from its dubious connotations
fail to acknowledge the way in which the idea of `rhetoric' was strategically reied and theorised as a mode of deceptive communication in
the Athenian democracy's very own competitive institutions of speech
and performance. If modern commentators champion Athenian
theories and practices of `rhetoric' as notions which can improve
modern institutions of democracy and `free speech', Athenian oratory's persistent demonisation of the sophist, the logographer and the
`clever speaker' as peddlers of self-serving lies should alert them to the
dangers of privileging the ideals of pluralism implied by Greek rhetorical theory over and above the example of how rhetoric comes to be
represented and viewed in the `practical' performances of Athenian
democratic discourse itself.15 I will argue in my fourth chapter that
legal and political oratory at Athens deploy what can be termed a
`rhetoric of anti-rhetoric' and a more general `meta-discourse' concerning the powers and perils of deceptive communication on the part
of elite speakers.16 These anti-rhetorical and `meta-discursive' strategies do not constitute a philosophical project. Nor do they add up to
a treatise on rhetoric and deceit. But they do mark out an area of
(self-)representation in which mass-elite democratic discourse could
15 The liberal criticism of Popper (1966) and Vickers (1988) and their defence of `rhetoric' as the lifeblood of pluralism is curiously close to some `postmodern' accounts of
rhetoric. From a `postmodern' perspective (also hinted at by Foucault (1981) and
noted by Dreyfus and Rabinow (1982)) Jarratt (1991) 81117 calls for the reintroduction of `sophistic' thought and argumentation to modern western pedagogy without addressing the possibility of their co-optation by dominant regimes of truth and
power, not to mention the likely emergence of an `anti-rhetorical' discourse. See
Gra (1989) for `co-optation'; Fish (1994) 14179 on why law can never really admit
its `rhetoricity'. Swearingen (1991) also ignores the `anti-rhetorical' topoi of practical
oratory in her (Plato-centred) account of how rhetoric and lies come to be associated.
Chomsky (1989) and Arendt (1972) dissect deceptive rhetoric, `disinformation' and
`noble' lies deployed by the United States federal government in recent decades.
16 I borrow `the rhetoric of anti-rhetoric' from Valesio (1980), who uses it to analyse renaissance tracts and speeches in Shakespeare. For references and discussion on what I
will be calling `anti-rhetorical' topoi against opponents, see Dover (1974) 258; Ostwald (1986) 2567. On the orators' attacks on opponents as sophists and `clever
speakers' see Ober (1989) 15691; on logography see Bonner (1927) 3203; Dover
(1968) 14874; Kennedy (1963) 12645; Lavency (1964); Carey and Reid (1985) 13
18; Sinclair (1988) 186; Usher (1976); Cartledge (1990a) 4952.
The argument
Prologue
Prologue
10
Prologue
11
12
Prologue
13
can be seen to foreground the ways in which certain lies can be both
true and false: they may be false in the details but convey an overall or
deeper `reality'. They may present ctional situations which nevertheless convey normative or ethical `truths'.
This awareness that poetry, song and narrative may be either wholly
false or `lies like the truth' is also articulated in Hesiod's Theogony.
There, Hesiod describes how he was given the gift of poetic inspiration
by the Muses. In a dicult pair of lines (278) which have generated
much controversy, the Muses tell Hesiod that they know how to tell
many lies like true things ( pseudea . . . etumoisin homoia), but when they
wish, they also know how to speak `true' things (alethea). The signicance of these lines for our understanding of the Theogony and archaic
poetics in general is very dicult to establish. But they do seem to set
out a conception of lying as a form of communication which need not
be opposed to `truth-telling'.
The idea that poetic narrative is akin to `lying' is given a moral and
political dimension in late archaic and early classical lyric. For Pindar,
involved as he is in the politics and aesthetics of encomium and aetiology, the possibility that mythological tradition is grounded in poetic
lies allows him to position his own representations as truthful. Thus,
he attempts to rehabilitate the kleos of Ajax by impugning Homer as
complicit in Odysseus' lies and cunning self-promotions at Ajax's expense.39 Xenophanes' verses also question the veracity and ethical appropriateness of poetic tradition.40 Simonides may have been the rst
poet to explicitly characterise his own creations as a form of apate.41
In line with the didactic tradition of Hesiod's Works and Days, the
elegiac poetry that comes down to us under the authorship of Theognis
also provides important features in the pre-classical representation of
deception. Theognis advises his audience not to trust the outward appearances of fellow citizens and friends (734). In the face of social
upheaval in Megara, Theognis recommends that the young aristocrat
conceal his true character and intentions, adapting his persona to suit
whatever company he keeps (21314, 10712).42
These early poetic treatments of deception will be seen to inform
classical treatments though the new democratic context will place them
in a dierent light. The reader may also notice certain texts or issues
which are missing from my treatment of Athenian culture. I oer no
39 See Pind. Nem. 7.930 and 8.1944 with bibliography cited below p. 118 n. 99.
40 Xenophanes DK 21 b1, b11 and b12. See Babut (1974); Kirk, Raven and Schoeld
(1983) 16870; Pratt (1993) 13640.
41 See Plut. De poet. aud. 15d; Carson (1992) 53.
42 See Levine (1985), Donlan (1985) and Cobb-Stevens (1985).
14
Prologue
15
that such comparisons are misleading because they imply that modern
America or Britain are in some sense `the same' as classical Athens. I
do not wish these comparisons to imply that Athenian democracy
`translates' into modern democracy or that Athenian representations of
deceit are fully explicable in terms of modern analogies. To take one
example of dierence by way of illustration: Herodotus tells us that the
general Miltiades was indicted and sentenced to exile by the demos for
deceiving them with false promises. Miltiades promised to enrich
Athenians if they sanctioned a military campaign. When he failed to
come up with the goods, they punished him. Now modern democratic
politicians fail to full their pledges all the time and they may get voted
out of oce as a result. But British and American citizens cannot (or at
least, do not) sue a government representative for disappointing them
or breaking election promises.
But there are still good reasons for bringing modern representations
of deception into play. Firstly, the examples I have selected should
help to clarify certain issues which are at stake in my selections and
analyses. In the rst of my opening quotations Oliver North is subjected to a rhetoric of military identity. This quotation thus serves as a
signpost for a key concern of my rst chapter: military aspects of
Athenian civic identity inform Athenian evaluations and representations of deceit and vice versa. But the North quote will be supplemented with other modern material which will serve to highlight the
complexity and diculty of interpreting (often conicting) public representations of deception. So the modern comparisons are designed
both to highlight the problems encountered in telling a story about the
representation of deception in Athens and to underline the important
points of this story.
Speaking of this book as a `story' brings me to the second reason for
including modern comparisons. These examples can remind the reader
that my ndings are contingent and conditioned. That is to say that my
own position in history is likely to have aected my interpretation of
deception in democratic Athens and that such an interpretation does
not express some timeless truth either about deception in Athens or
about deception per se. Rather than pretend that my interpretation is
made from some standpoint outside history, my use of modern analogies is intended to signal the likelihood that twentieth-century concerns have shaped the focus and argument of this book. In the current
critical climate, one response to the challenge of the inevitable and
distorting distance between the interpreter and the ancient culture she
seeks to `read' is to characterise the reconstruction of `original' meaning as a positivistic and `realist' illusion. Thus my historical and literary
16
Prologue
17
cally independent of the rmness with which any particular fact is experienced.'51
Another reason for avoiding `textualism' is forcefully presented by
Paul Cartledge, although his argument here is actually directed towards `anthropologising' approaches which over-emphasise the `otherness' of the Greeks:
Are not the Victorian English (say) alien or foreign to us in culturally fundamental respects? But we do not treat their culture as a closed book on principle. In short, although it is not the case, as too many Classicists appear to wish
to believe, that `we are all ancient Greeks' (or Athenians), and although Classical Greek culture is both as a whole and in fundamental details deeply alien,
it is nevertheless possible for us to gain a sympathetic understanding of it.52
18
Prologue
19
political and partisan) idea of what this relevance could be. This will
not be an attempt to `do' politics in the conventional sense, but it will
trace a few ways in which the representation of deception in the Athenian democracy can suggest a politically oriented agenda for intellectual critique and artistic expression in a modern democracy. The
modern analogies which occasionally appear throughout the book will
help to clarify that agenda and perhaps encourage the reader to think of
(and with) their own connections and analogies.
In my opening quotations, Oliver North is told that his lies are unAmerican and violate his commitments as an American serviceman.
Clearly, evaluations of deceit can be tied to notions of military, political and national identity in the public discourses of a late twentiethcentury democracy. I will begin by considering the evaluation of deceit
in relation to the ideology of the Athenian citizen-serviceman.
British statesmen and public men have never at any time used mendacity as an
instrument of war, still less have they uttered such praises of lying as Hitler has
done in Mein Kampf . . . In Great Britain we believe in the ultimate power of
Truth.1
20
21
tween Hitler the Liar and Britain the True obviously relies on a basic
assumption that deception is morally wrong and truth-telling is morally
good. Finally, the contrast is hardly an adequate or complete guide to
British representations of military deceit or national character at the
time or in subsequent years. Britain did not shirk from deploying tactics of deception and disinformation against the Axis powers during the
Second World War, nor was there a British public outcry when such
tactics were revealed after the event.3
The points concerning `national character' and `morality' in relation
to deceit serve to introduce my argument that the representation of
deceptive behaviour and communication is an important component in
the construction and reproduction of an ideal Athenian citizen identity. I take certain texts that exemplify or relate to this discourse of
identity as my starting point because modern scholarship has tended
to characterise ancient Greek culture as much more accepting of
deceptive behaviour than modern western civic societies. For example,
Detienne and Vernant have traced the connotations and valorisation of
metis (`cunning intelligence') in a wide range of texts spanning ten
centuries from Homer down to Oppian.4 It would be hard to dismiss
the many positive associations which this category of thought is given
in the classical period and it is equally hard to nd analogues for the
concept in modern cultures. It is certainly true that classical Athenian
texts oer us many positive evaluations of deceit in certain contexts
and I will have much to say about these positive treatments in later
chapters. Anthropological studies on rural communities in Greece and
elsewhere in the Mediterranean since the Second World War have also
been applied to archaic Greece and classical Athens in order to claim
that the ancients were not so dierent from their modern ancestors
in prizing and practising deception with vigour.5 Here, lying is seen to
be especially crucial to the conduct of what Cohen calls the `politics
of reputation'.6 I have already discussed the dangers and advantages
of this comparative approach in my introduction. But this chapter
attempts to show that in the public spaces of Athenian civic and democratic exchange, there was a strong and persistent ideological construction of deceit and trickery as negative categories of communication
3
4
5
6
22
23
24
25
26
one tightly-packed unit. To leave your position in this unit was to lay it
open to destruction: `the values of a hoplite are necessarily tied to a
sense of collective endeavour'.18
A major text, often cited for evidence of these ideal notions of collective action, duty to the polis and the value of the citizen army, is
Pericles' funeral speech in the second book of Thucydides. In this
speech, the Thucydidean Pericles explicitly contrasts Athenian military
values with those of the Spartans. I want to cite a section of the speech
in order to illustrate three intertwined strands in the Athenian ideological construction of trickery and deceit as occupying the realm of the
`other' in the second half of the fth century:
And then we are dierent to our opponents with regard to military preparations
in the following ways. Our city is open to the world, and we have no periodical
deportations of foreigners in order to prevent people seeing or learning secrets
which might be of military advantage to the enemy. This is because we rely, not
on preparations and deceits but on our own real courage with respect to deeds
(pisteuontev ou tai v paraskeuai v to ple on kai apataiv h tw aj' hmwn autwn e v
ta e rga euyucw). There is a dierence too in our systems of education. The
Spartans, from boyhood are submitted to the most laborious training in courage (oi me n e piponw askhsei euquv ne oi ontev to andrei on mete rcontai), whereas
we pass our lives without such restrictions but we are no less ready to face the
same dangers as they are. (Thucydides 2.39.1)
This passage has been remarked upon for the extreme emphasis it
places on the merits of Athenian non-professionalism.19 Yet, to use
the phrase `non-professionalism' perhaps introduces a distinction
which misses the force of Pericles' statements about Athenian military
conduct. He is not so much stressing the non-mercenary aspect of
Athenian military participation as emphasising its lack of reliance on
acquired knowledge through training. Pericles marks a contrast between the enforced military education and the `learned courage' of the
Spartans on the one hand, and a representation of the Athenians as
naturally endowed with courage on the other.20
This idea of a natural disposition towards prowess in the Athenian
character is a commonplace of the funeral orations we have: most
18 Goldhill (1988) 145.
19 See Loraux (1986) 150: `. . . the funeral oration is the privileged locus of Athenian
``non-professionalism'' in military matters, nding its most extended expression in
Pericles' epitaphios but referred to in all the orations'. See also Vidal-Naquet (1986a)
89f.
20 As Mills (1997) 74 points out, this emphasis on Athens' lack of strict and extensive
military training allows Pericles to trumpet the fact that Athenians have time for higher
concerns: `We love beauty without extravagance and wisdom ( philosophoumen) without softness' (Thuc. 2.40.2).
27
28
29
I have already alluded to another motivation behind Pericles' contrast between Athens' openness and the Spartan enemy's reliance on
deception and secrecy, namely the negative relation of notions of
trickery to the ideology of hoplite endeavour. As Winkler remarks, the
contrast between hoplite warfare and the tactics of deception is particularly important: `enemy armies might camp quite close to each other
without fear of surprise attack . . . ambuscades and night attacks were a
serious violation of honour, at least between Greeks'.30 Winkler makes
these comments to emphasise the transgressive nature of the myth of
trickery associated with the Apatouria festival, an occasion which
marked the entry of Athenian adolescents into adult life. Winkler follows Vidal-Naquet's famous analysis of this myth of trickery and its
association with a `coming of age ceremony'. I will briey summarise
Vidal-Naquet's ndings because many of my arguments concerning
apate and its placement on the terrain of Athenian ideology constitute
an explicit engagement with his work.
As I noted above, there is disagreement over the possible existence of
an Athenian institution of cadet-training (ephebeia), but there is an inscription from Acharnae of an ephebic oath whose language and style
suggest an archaic origin.31 To be an ephebe was to be at a transitional
stage between childhood and full citizenship with all its military, civic
and familial responsibilities. For many youths, then, the transformation into adulthood meant the adoption of the military and civic status
of a hoplite.
The beginning of a young man's ephebic status was celebrated ritually by the sacrice of his long hair on the third day of the Apatouria. It
was also at this festival that youths were sworn into their phratry. But it
is the aetiological myth of the festival and Vidal-Naquet's analysis of it
which are instructive.32 The story of the myth occurs at the frontier
between Athens and Boeotia where (there are diering versions) some
form of border dispute develops. The Boeotian king is Xanthus (`Fair
One') and the Athenian king is Thymoeites, a descendant of Theseus.
It is agreed to settle the dispute by a duel but Thymoeites appoints a
champion, Melanthus (`Black One'), to ght in his place. Melanthus
defeats his opponent by means of a deception. He cries out `Xanthus,
you do not play according to the rules there is someone beside you!'
30 Winkler (1990a) 33. For general condemnations of deception as a military tactic in
Greek drama see [Eur.] Rhes. 51011 and Soph. Trach. 27080 where we are told that
Zeus exiled Heracles for killing Iphitus by dolos.
31 See Siewert (1977) and the text contained in n. 17 above.
32 See Vidal-Naquet (1986a) 108f. He gives an extensive list of sources dating from the
fth century bc through to the Byzantine period.
30
31
32
never saying the same thing twice (oude le gousin oude pote tauta) to
bring about the alliance with Argos, Elis and Mantinea' (5.45.3). The
historian explains that the Athenians were already feeling cheated by
the Spartans. Alcibiades exploits this mood and the commonplace of
Spartan duplicity to enact his own trick. The Spartans are tricked into
living up to the Athenian prejudice and the Athenian assembly are also
deceived by Alcibiades' ruse. This is Alcibiades' rst political act in
Thucydides' account of the Peloponnesian War and it exemplies the
historian's initial description of him as an ambitious and competitive
young aristocrat who sees Nicias as a rival and feels slighted that he had
not been approached by the Spartans. Consequently Alcibiades wants
to renew hostilities with Sparta but ultimately wishes to revive the
strong relationship of proxenia which used to exist between the Spartans and his family (5.45.3).40 The Thucydidean Alcibiades is always a
law unto himself. But in the light of the Periclean construction of
Athenian `openness' and Spartan `dishonesty' which he has presented
in book 2, it is striking that the historian presents us with an example of
the way in which a prominent young Athenian uses dissimulation to
further his own ends and does so by both parading and perpetuating
the negative image of Spartans as habitually untrustworthy. While I am
primarily concerned here to trace the workings and connotations of the
`ideal', it is important to remember that Thucydides sometimes `deconstructs' that ideal. In his account of Alcibiades' ruse, the historian
narrates an unmasking of the way in which national stereotypes are reproduced and given authority. Alcibiades' lies turn the Spartans into
liars and the Athenians are duped because their prejudices are thus
conrmed.
Bradford demonstrates the pervasiveness of the `tricky Spartan' in
Athenian authors but he does not ask why or how this stereotype is
deployed. It is precisely in Pericles' words that we see the terms in
which Spartan trickery is opposed to Athenian openness. Deception is
not simply attributed to the Spartan enemy. Rather, deception is construed in terms of its incompatibility with the ideal Athenian's identity
as a hoplite-citizen who is born with the attributes of military excellence and manliness. To stereotype Spartans as deceptive is to imply
that they lack natural courage and military excellence and to question
their commitment to the honourable lineaments of hoplite battle.
The Athenian construction of Spartans as deceitful in general, and
Pericles' comments in particular, also draw their force from perceptions and evaluations of Spartan training and education ( paideia).
40 On this, see Ostwald (1986) 298333.
33
When he refers to the `laborious askesis' of the Spartan system of education, the Thucydidean Pericles is clearly referring to what scholars
commonly refer to as the agoge and the krupteia.41 Taken together,
these two aspects of Spartan paideia were the means by which the
Spartan state perpetuated its unique reputation as a rigorous authoritarian community of disciplined soldier-citizens. Greek writers of the
fourth century evince a persistent fascination with these two extraordinary institutions. As part of the agoge the Spartans were said to have
trained young boys from the age of seven for adulthood by forcing
them to steal food through hunger and by issuing them with only one
cloak. If they were caught stealing from the adult sussitia (`common
mess') the boys were whipped. This was supposed to instil qualities of
military courage, hardness and resourcefulness ( panourgia).42 The
agoge contained one ritual where boys had to compete in two groups to
steal the most votive cheeses from the altar of Artemis Orthia and they
were whipped in the process. Xenophon actually argues that this education in deception was designed by Lycurgus to make boys `more
resourceful' and `better at waging war'.43 When these boys reached
adulthood it seems that some or all of them trained in the krupteia.44
Those boys who go into the krupteia supposedly endure pain by going
without shoes and bedding, even in winter.45 They go out into the
countryside for a year. With the minimum of food and clothing they
had to survive o the land without being caught and in solitude. In a
related but separate procedure, the best youths hide by day and kill
unwanted helots under the cover of night.46
41 As Kennell (1995) 113 points out, the word agoge is never used in extant texts to
denote Spartan education until the Hellenistic age: `writers of the fth and fourth
centuries b.c. rightly presented the rituals of initiation and acculturation as wholly integrated into the unique Spartan way of life, but never attached to it any particular
name'. In this book I will nevertheless retain the later term to describe Spartan training
practices attested in the classical period.
42 Xen. Lac. Pol. 2.69, Anab. 4.6.1415; Plut. Lycurg. 1618. See Hooker (1980) 136f.
In the Lac. Pol. passage, Xenophon claims that it was the Spartan law-giver Lycurgus
who instituted the exercise in theft and trickery.
43 Xen. Lac. Pol. 2.7: tauta oun dh panta dhlon oti mhcanikwte rouv twn e pithdei wn
boulomenov touv pai dav poiei n kai polemikwte rouv outwv e pai deusen. According to Plut.
Ages. 20.2, Xenophon put his own sons through the Spartan agoge, at Agesilaus' suggestion. See Cartledge (1987) 66.
44 Cartledge (1987) 301 argues that `soft' and `hard' versions of this institution are presented in ancient sources. See also Levy (1988) and Kennell (1995) 1312, who both
argue that the krupteia denotes the one-year period of isolation in the countryside for
all trainees and not (as is often assumed) the elite helot-killing police duties.
45 Pl. Leg. 1.633bc.
46 Plut. Lycurg. 28.17. On the possible initiatory and symbolic signicance of these
covert `police actions' see Levy (1988); Vernant (1992) 2389.
34
35
36
37
were forced to steal from the sussitia without being seen or face a
beating if they are caught, Vernant sees a comparison with `wild animals' and `beasts of prey': `the whip does not punish their crime of
thievery and its lowness; it denounces . . . those who are not able to
acquire, as is expected of them, the dangerous qualities of a predator'.60 Of particular importance here are those elements of the agoge
where stealing was accompanied with physical punishment. Xenophon
stresses that in the cheese-stealing ritual, the boys who are the most
cunning and swift receive the fewest blows from the whip.61 Vernant
sums up the name of the game in this ritual test: `the best policy is to
adopt the roles of the sly Fox and the ferocious Wolf, two animals who
have thievery in the blood'.62
In the Politics, Aristotle criticises these practices and regards them as
indicative of awed Spartan ethics.63 The Spartans mistake one element of virtue, namely courage or `manliness' (andreia), for virtue itself
and by being so preoccupied with the instilling of courage into the
young they `render them like wild animals' (qhriwdeiv: theriodeis)
(8.1338b12). Aristotle goes on to argue that the Spartan system of
training is not to be emulated because `what is noble (to kalon) must
take priority over what is beast-like (to theriodes). For it is neither a wolf
nor any other wild animal that will venture to confront a noble danger;
it is only the good man, the brave man' (aner agathos) (8.1338b29
32).64 The Spartan education fails to instil true `nobility' and courage
as required of the Greek male in battle precisely because it makes him
like a beast which cannot display these ethical qualities. The institutions of Spartan training are associated with the behaviour of wild animals, despite (or because of ) their emphasis on the deployment of
cunning, concealment and deception.65
The male chorus of Aristophanes' Lysistrata make a similar charge:
the men of Laconia `can no more be trusted than can a ravening wolf '
60
61
62
63
64
38
39
charges which are poiki lov (`variegated') also indicate disease and in
the treatise Humours, dangerous discharges from the womb are described as wma and poiki la.71 There may be a sense in which Adrastus'
assertion of the crudeness and poikilia of the Spartans associates their
roughness and propensity for the ever changing formations of trickery
with a disordered and diseased condition. The possible play between
these dierent usages of wmh and pepoi kiltai tropouv emphasises that
these wild and yet slippery Spartans are not functioning as humans
should.
The Thucydidean Pericles' funeral speech, then, is informed by
three interrelated components which constitute an Athenian rejection
of military apate. Firstly, deception is contrasted with notions of natural courage and inherited, inherent excellence. Secondly, deception is
incompatible with an ideal image of hoplite endeavour. Thirdly, the
speech's association of deceit with the Spartan enemy, whilst it can be
explained in terms of the rst two components, can also be related to a
wider discourse of `ethnic stereotyping'. This discourse specically
denigrates the Spartan national character as duplicitous by invoking
certain aspects of Spartan education and culture which could be
described as `uncivilised' or `wild'. Of course, the Spartans utilised
hoplite warfare as much as any other Greek state. But the Athenian
representation of them as duplicitous was integral to a civic discourse
of self-denition.
I have argued that the concepts of deceit and dissimulation were
important negative elements of Athens' developing democratic ideology. In the next section I will examine the invocation of similar considerations in Demosthenes' earliest legal oration, Against Leptines. In
this speech dishonesty is constructed as `unAthenian' and attributed to
his Athenian opponent's proposals and performances. The speech will
reappear throughout this study. For it contains some unique and extremely telling strategies of argument. These strategies invoke deceit's
(im)morality and ideological signicance in relation to three of its most
problematic possible trajectories and uses: deceit of the demos, deceit
of an enemy, and deceit as a socially or politically benecial ction. It
might be objected that one should be suspicious of a speech which
contains representations and evaluations of deceit which are unparalleled in the rest of Attic oratory. I would reply that in my third chapter
it is precisely the exceptional nature of one of these representations
71 From the concordance of Maloney and Frohn (1984) it is clear that poiki lov is especially used of urine. For one example see Hipp. Epid. 1.10.20. On discharges from the
womb see Hipp. Hum. 3.34.
40
41
Demosthenes' example is very carefully selected. This act of past collective honesty represents a `limit case': it was the time when Athens
could have cheated its enemies with some justication. But the collective impulse of the Athenian polis towards honesty meant that it
couldn't even deceive those who had done it great harm.73 Furthermore, the prudence and generosity of the democratic collective was
manifested in its decision not to place the burden of repayment on the
oligarchic party who colluded with the Spartans and were directly responsible for taking on the loan. Such generosity towards the internal
enemies of the democratic state is portrayed as coextensive with the
notion of an unequivocally honest collective character. Demosthenes'
example prompts his jury to ask themselves how they, as `honest
Athenian citizens', could possibly vote to break the city's promise of
generosity to its internal benefactors when it had been so honest and
generous to external and internal enemies.74 Here, Demosthenes'
conception of deception and cheating involves a failure to reciprocate.
73 Alongside Thuc. 2.39, Demosthenes' argument here contradicts the evidence cited by
Dover (1974) 170, on the basis of which he implies that the Athenians always regarded
the deception of an enemy as morally commendable.
74 Demosthenes' representation of the issue rests on a highly tendentious interpretation
of the existing law of exemption (ateleia) from leitourgia. He regards the law as analogous to a binding nancial contract. Demosthenes' example of Athens' honest identity
deals with the question of whether to honour a loan repayment whereas his opponent's
proposed amendment questioned the validity of exempting the descendants of benefactors when they themselves may have done little to help the state. The issue of individual responsibility for state nance was particularly pressing at the time of Leptines'
proposal because Athens had experienced an increase in its military commitments and
a resultant drain on its public nances. Athens had been involved in the so-called
`Social War' of 357355. For the draining nancial eects of this on the Athenian
treasury, see Isoc. 7.9. and Sandys (1979) iii.
42
43
nor do I say or know anything to his prejudice; but if I may judge from his law,
I detect a character very far removed from what I have described (polu toutou
kecwrisme non). I say, then, that it would be more honourable for Leptines to be
guided by you in repealing the law than for you to be guided by him in ratifying
it, and it would be more protable for you, as well as for him, that the city
should persuade Leptines to assume a likeness to herself (omoion auth) than
that she should be persuaded by Leptines to be like him (omoi an toutw); for
even if he really is a good man (crhstov) and he may be for all I know he is
not better than the city in character (oude belti wn e sti thv polewv to hqov).
(Demosthenes 20.1314)
44
45
46
Demosthenes then recounts how Themistocles ordered the Athenians to begin building the city walls and detain any Spartan envoys
who might arrive to prevent Athens from becoming too strong in terms
of defences. Themistocles himself went on an embassy to Sparta and
when reports came that the Athenians were building fortications, he
kept denying the possibility of such reports and told the Spartans to
send envoys to Athens. When these did not return he urged the Spartans to send more envoys. With these tactics of deceit and delay, Themistocles ensured that the city walls were rebuilt, despite the Spartans'
wishes to the contrary. Demosthenes goes on to draw the lesson from
his comparison between Conon and Themistocles:
I expect you have all heard the story of how he [Themistocles] deceived
(e xapathsai ) them. Now I assert (and I earnestly appeal to you, Athenians not
to take oence at what is coming, but to consider whether it is true) that in
proportion as openness is better than secrecy, and it is more honourable to gain
one's end by victory than by trickery (to janerwv tou laqra krei tton, kai to
nikwntav tou parakrousame nouv prattein otioun e ntimoteron), so Conon deserves more credit than Themistocles for building the walls. For the latter did it
by evading those who would have prevented it, the former by being victorious
against them (o me n gar laqwn, o de nikhsav touv kwlusontav aut' e poi hsen).
Therefore, it is not right that so great a man should be wronged by you, or
should gain less than those orators who will try to prove that you ought to deduct something from what was bestowed on him. (Demosthenes 20.734)
Themistocles was generally deemed worthy of recognition as a patriotic leader of achievement who operated in the interests of the people
he represented. For the orators, he is often invoked as a paradigm of
Athenian intelligence, virtue and genuinely democratic leadership.
Lysias' Funeral Oration emphasises Themistocles' singular abilities at
Salamis and Isocrates' Panathenaicus styles his leadership as responsible for that victory in contrast to the potentially disastrous strategy of
the Spartan general Eurybiades.83 In the speech Against Ctesiphon,
Aeschines cites Themistocles as an example of the old style leader who
rendered great service to the city and demanded nothing in return.84
Aeschines makes the point that Themistocles is unlike contemporary
politicians such as Demosthenes who expect and demand crowns for
non-existent services to the city. In fact, when Themistocles is invoked
by the orators, it is generally as a component of the rhetorical topos
whereby a present political situation is contrasted with a much more
83 Lys. 2.42; Isoc. 12.512.
84 Aeschin. 3.181. See also 3.259.
47
48
49
50
Symbolic sanctions
51
52
procedure in the early fth century and it is hard to determine the date
of inception for the procedures and institutions referred to in later
sources.
Whilst they may disagree over the type of procedure used, all the
commentators assume that Herodotus must be referring to a specic
charge of `deception of the people'.96 This need not be the case. When
Herodotus tells us that Xanthippus indicted Miltiades `because of the
deceit he practised on the Athenians' he may only be describing his
own perception of the prosecutor's reasons for charging Miltiades. The
causal statement may not tell us anything about the specic law which
was cited against Miltiades. On the other hand, Miltiades' transgression did involve an unfullled promise to the demos. We have ve
certain references to laws specically forbidding deception of the demos in fourth-century sources and I will discuss these in more detail
below.97 Four of these references share the conditional phrase e an tiv
uposcomenov ti ton dhmon (`if someone, making a promise to the people
. . .').98 It seems that in the fourth century at least, the specic charge of
`deceiving the people' was associated with making false or unfullled
promises. If one of these laws was in existence at the time of Miltiades'
trial, then his crime would t perfectly with prosecution under the
auspices of such a law; he promised that he would make the Athenians
rich if they allowed his expedition and he singularly failed to make that
promise good. If the law(s) against false promises were introduced later
in the fth century, Herodotus may have connected Miltiades' trial
with a law against `deceit of the people (apath tou dhmou) precisely
because his crime tted so well with the terms of this later piece of
legislation.
Our only other example of a case apparently brought for `deception
of the people' is in Xenophon's account of the notorious trial of the
Arginousae generals and its aftermath in 406.99 Xenophon recounts how
six of the generals had been condemned and executed at the bidding of
Callixenus. Euryptolemus and Socrates had challenged the legality of
Callixenus' proposals but the people said that they should be allowed
to do what they wanted and they wanted the generals to be punished.
Not long after the executions, Xenophon describes how the people
96 Harrison (1971) 54 and 60; Hansen (1975) 69; MacDowell (1978) 179; Rhodes (1979)
105.
97 References to laws against deception of the demos: Dem. 20.100, 135, 49.67; Xen.
Hell. 1.7.35; [Arist.] Ath. Pol. 43.5.
98 Dem. 20.100, 135, 49.67; [Arist.] Ath. Pol. 43.5.
99 For discussion of the legality of the trial, see MacDowell (1978) 1869.
Symbolic sanctions
53
repented and called for the prosecution of those politicians who had
deceived them:
And not long afterwards, the Athenians repented, and they voted that complaints ( probolai ) be brought against anyone who had deceived the people
(oi tinev ton dhmon e xhpathsan, probolav autwn einai), that they provide
bondsmen until such time as they should be brought to trial, and that Callixenus be included among them. Complaints were brought against four others
also, and they were put into connement by their bondsmen. But when there
broke out a factional disturbance (stasis), in the course of which Cleophon was
put to death, these men escaped, before being brought to trial. (Xenophon
Hellenica 1.7.35)
This passage seems to tell us that in 406 it was possible to make `preliminary complaints' (probolai ) to the ecclesia against individuals for
`deceiving the demos'. This may be corroborated by a passage of the
Aristotelian Constitution of Athens which states that in the chief assembly meeting of the Sixth Prytany the people take a vote on whether or
not to hold an ostracism, and on probolai brought against sycophants
and against anyone `who has failed to perform a promise made to the
people' (kan tiv uposcomenov ti mh poihsh tw dhmw).100 The ecclesia
voted for or against the individual accused in the probolh but the vote
was merely `an expression of public opinion without binding force'.101
If the ecclesia endorsed a complaint, its author might take his charge
to the lawcourts at a later date.102 The Aristotelian passage states that
the number of complaints brought against alleged sycophants was restricted to a maximum of six, divided equally between citizens and
metics.103 On the basis of this statement, Matthew Christ has recently
argued that the joining together of the three measures and their re100 [Arist.] Ath. Pol. 43.5: `in the sixth prytany, in addition to the business specied, they
take a vote on the desirability of holding an ostracism and on probolai against sycophants, Athenians and metics, up to the number of not more than three cases of
either class and charges against anyone who has failed to perform a promise made to
the demos' (e pi de thv e kthv prutanei av prov toi v ei rhme noiv kai peri thv ostrakojori av
e piceirotoni an didoasin ei dokei poiei n h mh, kai sukojantwn probolav twn Aqhnai wn
kai twn metoi kwn me cri triwn e kate rwn, kan tiv uposcomenov ti mh poihsh tw dhmw).
101 Christ (1992) 339.
102 For the nature of probolai see Lipsius (1905) vol. i, 21119; Bonner and Smith
(1938) vol. ii, 6371; Harrison (1971) vol. ii, 5964; MacDowell (1978) 1947 and
(1990) 1317. On complaints brought for oences at public festivals see Christ
(1992).
103 Osborne (1990) 945 argues that, because the Ath. Pol. is not written in the `best literary Greek', the `sukojantwn', `'Aqhnai wn', and `metoi kwn' of section 43.5 `do not all
refer to the same persons and hence the limitation might be that three Athenians and
three metics could bring charges against three sykophants in this way annually'.
54
Symbolic sanctions
55
As Hansen suggests, the rst two citations from the speech Against
Leptines might be references to the law of probolai as outlined in the
Constitution of Athens.111 I have already discussed the law of probole and
the problems of interpreting the Aristotelian description. I wish to
concentrate here on the third citation in the speech Against Timotheus
107 On the assumption in the orators that the demos will make wiser decisions and have
more wisdom than any individual, see Ober (1989) 1635. In forensic speeches it is
often assumed that a bad judgement could only come about if a jury receives false
information; unjust or unwise verdicts are the fault of a deceitful litigant and his witnesses, not of the jury.
108 e sti de dhpou nomov umi n, e an tiv uposcomenov ti ton dhmon h thn boulhn h dikasthrion
e xapathsh, ta e scata pascein.
109 e stin umi n nomov arcai ov . . . an tiv uposcomenov ti ton dhmon e xapathsh, kri nein, kan
alw, qanatw zhmioun.
110 . . . nomwn ontwn, e an tiv ton dhmon uposcomenov e xapathsh, ei saggeli an einai peri
autou . . .
111 Hansen (1975) 14.
56
which specically claims that an individual could be subject to impeachment (eisaggeli an) if `making a promise, he deceives the demos'.
One of the problems we have in interpreting Demosthenes' reference
to the procedure of eisangelia as a means of dealing with deceivers is
that there is very little evidence concerning the deployment and development of the law on impeachment (nomos eisangeltikos) as a whole.
Historians have made educated guesses as to when a source can be said
to have oered a verbatim quotation from the law, and when it has
merely provided a general (and perhaps distorted) gloss. Hansen presumes that the citation from the speech Against Timotheus contains a
direct reference to a clause in the law of impeachment because
`eisangelia is expressly referred to as the proper remedy to be employed',
and the words `if someone, making a promise, deceives the demos' are
a verbatim quotation from the third section of the law on impeachment.112 Hansen and Rhodes concur on this point and they may be
right; it could be that the fourth- and/or fth-century nomos eisangeltikos did include a clause against deceiving the demos by making false
promises.113 However, the fact that the reference from Against Timotheus associates deception of the demos with the term eisaggeli an
does not necessarily prove that the nomos eisangeltikos contained any
clause specically prohibiting such deception, let alone a clause that
is identical with the Demosthenic `quotation'. Ruschenbusch and
Rhodes himself have argued that eisaggeli a and eisagge llein and other
terms which we take as referring to distinct legal procedures are words
`within whose normal range of meaning one or more technical senses
developed'.114 It was possible that, even in a legal context, terms like
eisaggeli a or grajh may not have always been used in their technical
legal sense (namely, referring to one procedure as distinct from any
other). It was also possible that a set of technical legal terms had not
yet crystallised such that each term had its own distinct meaning and
no other more general meaning.115 These possibilities are demon112 Hansen (1975) 14.
113 See Rhodes (1979) 107. The major sources for the oences covered by the nomos
eisangeltikos are Hyp. 4.78, 29, 39; Dem. 24.63; [Arist.] Ath. Pol. 8.4, 53.6; Harp.
Suid. (EI 222); Philochorus 328 FGrH f199; Poll. 8.512. These list oences which
Rhodes and Hansen summarise under three headings; (1) Attempts to overthrow the
democracy. (2) Treason. (3) Taking of bribes. It is generally held that the charge of
deceiving the demos can be added either as part of the third heading or else as denominating a separate fourth heading.
114 Rhodes (1979) 103. Given Rhodes' caveats, it is surprising that he accepts Hansen's
treatment of Dem. 49.67 so uncritically. See also Ruschenbusch (1968) 734.
115 For example, see Goldhill (1988a) 3356 on the multiple meanings of di kh, only one
of which was `law-suit.' See also Todd and Millett (1990) 13.
Symbolic sanctions
57
58
general Timotheus) which I have just discussed.118 The speaker, Apollodorus, uses the existence of such legislation as part of his explanation
as to why he withdrew an oath-challenge ( proklesis) directed at his opponent.119 He was the rst to tender a proklesis to Timotheus and the
latter responded in kind:
For after I had put the oath in the evidence-box, he thought that, by taking an
oath himself, he could be quit of the aair. And, if I had not known that he had
agrantly perjured himself in many solemn oaths both to poleis and individuals, I should have allowed him to take the oath. (Demosthenes 49.65)
118 Dem. 49.67. This speech was delivered by Apollodorus and has a probable dating of
362 bc. Plut. Vit. Dem. 15, states that Apollodorus won the suit and that Demosthenes
wrote the speech. But Demosthenic authorship has been disputed; see Schafer (1856
8), vol. iii, 137.; Blass (188798), vol. iii, 522. Trevett (1992) 5076 comprehensively surveys the arguments for Demosthenic authorship of the `Apollodoran'
speeches and concludes that 46, 49, 50, 52, 53 and 59 are not the work of Demosthenes.
119 Apollodorus was prosecuting Timotheus for the return of money which he had borrowed from his father Pasion in the late 370s. Despite the fact that Timotheus was a
major public gure and a strategos, Trevett (1992) 1278, argues that there was no
political motivation behind the case on the grounds that Apollodorus `makes little
attempt to vilify his opponent'. We will see that Apollodorus does vilify his opponent
by reference to the law against deceivers of the demos and argues that Timotheus has
sworn falsely in the ecclesia. These accusations seem to indicate that Timotheus'
public prole as a regular speaker is at stake in this speech.
Symbolic sanctions
59
Recent work on the theory lying behind the proklesis procedure and the
infrequent attestation of its actual deployment might suggest that
Apollodorus is constructing a covering argument here. Todd has
shown that oath-challenges were probably constructed in such a way as
to ensure that they were turned down by an opponent.120 If your
adversary actually took the oath then there was no possible means of
refuting him and the trial would not go ahead. If he challenged you too
and both parties agreed to take the oath then they cancelled each other
out in their eect. Apollodorus' statement that Timotheus `thought
that by taking an oath himself he could be quit of the aair' (hxi ou
outov kai autov omosav aphllacqai) may indicate that a mutual
acceptance of a proklesis by both parties meant that further legal proceedings could not occur. Apollodorus indicates that he had the power
to get his oath in rst and then deny Timotheus of swearing his challenged oath by withdrawing that initial challenge. Whether or not this
is a distortion of what really happened and hence what was actually
permissible is dicult to determine. But if Todd's interpretation of the
apparently rare deployment of the proklesis is correct, then there is
denitely a case for arguing that Apollodorus had to prevent Timotheus from accepting the challenge in order for the case to go to trial.
Furthermore, he needed to deal with the fact that his opponent was
obviously more than willing to swear an oath. Such intent showed an
honest disposition according to the conventions of juridical procedure.
To swear the challenged oath was to demonstrate to the public that you
had nothing to fear or hide.
In order to turn the incident of the withdrawn oath-challenge to his
own advantage, Apollodorus claims that there have been many previous occasions where Timotheus has reneged on sworn oaths. Using
the classic rhetorical technique of praeteritio, he implies that his opponent is an habitual oath-breaker in the cause of private interest (`the
specic instances . . . would make a long story'). He actually details
only two supposed instances of Timotheus' oath-breaking. Both relate
to oaths sworn and promises made to the ecclesia, and the rst and
most detailed account (quoted above) specically cites the laws which
make anyone liable to eisangelia if they are believed to have deceived
the demos having made them a promise. Apollodorus points out that
by giving his daughter in marriage to the son of Iphicrates, Timotheus
120 Todd (1990) 35. See Due (1980) chs. 1 and 5. For a list of references to oathchallenges see Bonner (1905) 749 and Harrison (1971) vol. i, 150. On the use of
oaths as `non-articial' proofs see Arist. Rh. 1.1355b39f. and Kennedy (1963) 88103;
Gagarin (1989).
60
Symbolic sanctions
61
to twice and in both cases the references are part of rhetorical strategies
which are distinct from each other and dierent to that deployed
against Timotheus. In the rst case, Demosthenes deals with Leptines'
argument that if his own amendment to the law is thrown out, then
Demosthenes and Phormio will not introduce their own promised
amendment and the old law will remain unchanged. Demosthenes
counters this line of attack as follows:
Now, in the rst place, there are many ways open to him, if he wishes, of
compelling the amender to introduce his own law. In the next place Phormio
and myself and anyone else he cares to name are prepared to guarantee that we
will introduce it. You know there is a law making death the penalty for anyone
who, making a promise, deceives the demos, the Boule or the lawcourt. You
have our guarantee, our promise. (Demosthenes 20.100)
Demosthenes now places his audience in a potentially objective relationship to the law. He characterises the old law guaranteeing exemption from liturgies to state benefactors and their descendants as
analogous to a promise to the demos. It is dicult to determine quite
what Demosthenes is doing here. Is he arguing that a repeal of the law
actually would be an example of making a false promise to the demos
itself ? Or is he simply making a case for the potentially shameful
62
Symbolic sanctions
63
haviours they were `intended' to proscribe, there has to be a recognition that in both the actual cases brought and in the rhetorical citations
as exampled above there was a constant strategic re-negotiation of the
nature of the laws' relevant applications and signicances.
The symbolic and strategic deployment of the law against deceiving
the demos is paralleled in the orators' occasional references to the
curse proclaimed by a herald before every meeting of the Boule and
the ecclesia. The exact content of the curse can only be guessed at
from oratory's allusions to it and a parodic rendition in Aristophanes'
Thesmophoriazusae.123 Demosthenes certainly regards the curse as including a prohibition on deceit of the demos when he has the curse
read out to the jury to show that religion and piety forbid them to
acquit Aeschines when he has been proved guilty of lying (19.70).124
Demosthenes goes on to argue that it would be absurd for the jury
to acquit a man whom, through the herald's curse, they enjoin and
require the gods to punish. Dinarchus has the curse read out in his
speech Against Demosthenes. He says that Demosthenes has been
proved to have taken bribes and has `deceived the people and the Boule
in deance of the curse, professing views he does not hold' (e xhpathkwv
de kai ton dhmon kai thn boulhn para thn aran, [kai ] e tera me n le gwn
e tera de jronwn: 1.47). When the curse has been read out, Dinarchus
represents Demosthenes as demonstrating his lack of concern for the
curse with all his lies (1.48).125 Dinarchus' speech Against Aristogeiton
alludes to the curse as directed against those who speak in the ecclesia
having taken bribes (2.16).
In Aristophanes' parodic representation of a women's ecclesia (to
discuss Euripides), proceedings are prefaced with a long series of
curses performed by a female herald, and this is immediately followed
by a curse from the chorus. The herald curses anyone who plans evil
for the demos of women; anyone who communicates with Euripides or
the Medes in order to harm the women; anyone who aspires to tyranny
(Thesm. 3358). The objects of the curses then become more ridiculous; anyone who tells a woman's husband that the baby is not her
123 See Andoc. 1.31; Aeschin. 1.23; Dem. 19.701, 20.107, 23.97; Din. 1.478, 2.16; Lyc.
1.31; Ar. Thesm. 295372. For a reconstruction of the curse see Rhodes (1972) 367.
124 `To show you that this man is already accursed by you, and that religion and piety
forbid you to acquit one who has been guilty of such lies. Recite the curse. Take it and
read it from the statute' ( Ina toi nun ei dhq' oti kai kataratov e stin uj' umwn, kai oud'
osion umi n oud' eusebe v e sti toiaut' e yeusme non auton ajei nai, le ge thn aran kai anagnwqi labwn thn e k tou nomou tauthni ).
125 `Despite this, gentlemen of the jury, Demosthenes is so ready with his lies and utterly
unsound assertions (Dhmosqe nhv tw yeudesqai kai mhde n ugie v le gein e toi mwv crhtai),
so oblivious of shame, exposure, or curse, that he will dare to say of me, I gather, that
I too was previously condemned by the Boule.'
64
own; the servant who colludes in a wife's adultery and then informs on
her to her husband. There is also a curse against the messenger who
brings false reports and the adulterer who `deceives, telling lies and
does not give what he has promised' (h moicov ei tiv e xapata yeudh
le gwn kai mh di dwsin an uposchtai pote: 3434). Given that the law(s)
against deceiving the demos seem to have involved the notion of
breaking promises, it seems possible that this is a parodic appropriation
of an element in the real curse which specically condemned `deceit of
the demos' and making false promises to the people.
Whatever the precise wording of the curse, it is clear that the
orators invoke it symbolically and strategically to foreground `deceit
of the demos' as transgressive in religious as well as civic terms. Dinarchus makes capital out of the curse's content in order to characterise
Demosthenes' deceptions as impious.126 Demosthenes manipulates the
logic of the curse by stressing that its content covers Aeschines' lies to
the people. The curse was symbolically apotropaic; it called upon the
gods to punish all those who spoke with treasonable intent.
In this section I have tried to show how the Athenian democracy
deployed laws and public curses against deception of the demos. I have
also argued that these laws were symbolically important in democratic
oratory and that the symbolism could be manipulated to embody the
responsibilities of the demos as well as those of individual speakers.
These symbolic sanctions, alongside Demosthenes' construction of
Leptines' proposal as unAthenian dishonesty complement the Athenian representation of deception as `Spartan', `anti-hoplitic' and `uncourageous'. In the next section I will examine an example of Attic
tragedy's confrontation with these constructions and representations.
Staging Spartans and strategoi: Euripides' Andromache
The construction of the Spartan `other' and the Athenian `self ' in terms
of an opposition between non-hoplitic trickery and hoplitic openness
and a further opposition between deceptive tactics and appearances as
culturally acquired on the one hand and a natural, genuine excellence
on the other, is well illustrated in the action and narrative of Euripides'
Andromache.
Vidal-Naquet's interpretation of the Athenian `coming of age' ceremony has been applied to Athenian dramatic texts in order to demonstrate ways in which they might articulate notions of adult citizen
identity and responsibility through their representation of motifs
126 See Worthington (1992) ad loc. (211): `Curses in Greek society had a political as well
as a religious value.'
65
66
dromache falls mysteriously and feebly to pieces, leaving one with the
suspicion that there must be missing clues which would show the play
less inept than it seems'.131 Lesky regards the play as structurally awed
and carelessly written. He takes particular issue with the speeches
which seem to be directed against fth-century Sparta: `. . . when he
[Euripides] allows Peleus to fulminate against Spartan girls (595), who
romp naked with young men, it is not political poetry in the higher
sense, as we nd in Aeschylus, but inartistic propaganda'.132 Yet it is
precisely these contemporarily relevant attacks on Spartan morals
and mores which lead Kitto to conclude that the Andromache is `held
together by a single idea'. For him the play is a `denunciation of
Sparta, not a tragedy of mankind' and he characterises it more specically as `a violent attack on the Spartan mind, on Machtpolitik; in particular on three Spartan qualities, arrogance, treachery and criminal
ruthlessness'.133
Stevens points out that Kitto's reading may not work for the last
part of the play.134 Orestes is related to Menelaus but is described as an
Argive (1032).135 Nobody in the play explicitly suggests that he has
Spartan characteristics. However, it is important to note that Orestes is
presented as perniciously deceptive and manipulative. In several exchanges which I will discuss later, Andromache and Peleus represent
Menelaus as a conniver and a cowardly leader. The play characterises
Orestes as a self-interested schemer (9931008), although the messenger's suggestions that Apollo supports the killing of Neoptolemus
make ethical evaluation of these two heroes and the god himself
necessarily problematic. Nevertheless, de Jong has shown that the
messenger's narration (10851172) subtly lays emphasis on the malevolence and impiety of Orestes' tricks and implies that he does not
himself actually take part in the ambush of Neoptolemus.136 It is presumably the similarity between the actions and representations of
Menelaus and those of Orestes that led Kitto towards his totalised
131
132
133
134
135
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68
69
70
(mhcanav) are they weaving (ple kousin) against my wretched life?' She
assumes that the Spartans' attack on her will take the form of `woven
machinations'. Again, the deployment of metaphors for weaving,
plaiting and spinning to describe instances of contrivance and deception is commonplace in Greek literature. In Aeschylus' Choephoroi,
Electra suspects that her as yet unrecognised brother is weaving or
plaiting a trap around her: `what trick (dolon) are you weaving (ple keiv)
around me, stranger?' (220). A fragment of Aeschylus associates
Egyptian trickery with weaving: `the Egyptians are certainly clever at
weaving contrivances' (deinoi ple kein toi mhcanav Aiguptioi).145 In
many dramatic expressions of the anxiety that tricks are being woven,
the objects of suspicion are somehow `other' to the speaking subject;
strangers, women, supposedly anti-democratic women, barbarians and
here, Spartans who are `other' to Andromache and are being constructed as such for an Athenian audience.146 The therapaina enhances
this picture of malevolent cunning by pointing out that `as a sentry
(julax), Hermione is no small thing' (86).147 By the end of the rst
episode, then, Andromache has represented herself as resorting to
deception and concealment in order to protect herself and the life of
her son. In the absence of Neoptolemus, Hermione and Menelaus
are wrongly accusing her of witchcraft. Their identity as Spartans is
foregrounded and their hostility is perceived in terms of malevolent
trickery and cunning.
Hermione's entrance speech arms and supplements the representation of her oered by Andromache and the therapaina. `Adornment'
is her opening word (kosmon: 147) and her subsequent self-description
gives expression to a theme that will develop throughout the play. She
proclaims that she is wearing the wealthy and luxurious clothes that
145 Aesch. fr. 373 N 2 ( Aesch. fr. 373 R).
146 The Homeric Penelope virtually makes the gurative usage literal when she introduces the ruse of Laertes' web: `I will weave tricks' (e gw de dolouv tolupeuw: Hom.
Od. 19.137). For the conjunction of ujai nw (weave) with mhtiv (cunning) and dolov
(trick) see Hom. Od. 4.678, 739; 9.422; Il. 6.187. The chorus of old men at Ar. Lys.
630 suspect the women of weaving (ujhnan) a plot to bring about tyranny. Pindar uses
ple kw and ujai nw to describe his own act of poetic creation. See Pi. fr. 179M ( fr.
169 OCT) and Ol. 6.86 where he weaves a work which is poikilos; see also Pi. Nem.
4.94. On the connotations of weaving in Homer and lyric see Bergren (1979); Snyder
(1981); Jenkins (1985). See Buxton (1994) 1227 for the (often ambiguous) moral and
social connotations of weaving as represented in textual and pictorial versions of
Greek myth.
147 The same term was applied to Hermione's aunt Clytemnestra at Aesch. Ag. 914. In
that play, the full ramications of calling Clytemnestra a julax (sentry, look-out, or
guardian) are not realised by the Argive king.
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72
Hermione's valorisation of wealth is also being seen as specically inappropriate to her gender because it is directly damaging to the oikos.
Her wealthy appearances threaten to mask her moral bankruptcy and
supplant the old system of values which Boulter identies with the
play's `positive' characters. But through this attempt to use the supercial attributes of wealth as the sole grounds for status, she casts herself
in the role of a bad woman whose values disrupt domestic stability and
continuity.
Andromache's criticisms show how ascriptions of worth based on
material appearances rather than genuine `nobility' of character cannot
be adequate. Furthermore, such prioritising of the supercial and the
cosmetic will only destroy the order of the very realm which the woman
ought to be protecting. Hermione regards the trappings of wealth
as giving her the right to `speak freely' (wst' e leuqerostomei n: 153).
Wealth, elitism, Spartan identity and the power that they aord: these
are the themes through which Hermione introduces herself and justies
her verbal assault on Andromache.153 But by opposing her homeland to
the houses of her husband's forebears, by describing her auence in
terms of acquired adornment and by dramatising a display of appearances, Hermione's self-representation oers grounds for subsequent
accusations that Andromache and Peleus will make concerning her
own conduct as a wife and the legitimacy of her father's wealth, status
and political reputation. And by oering a critique of Hermione's
conduct, Andromache explicates and reinforces Athenian norms
concerning the conspicuous display of wealth among women. A
Spartan woman might behave in this way, but even a barbarian can see
through such a deceptive rhetoric of appearances and demonstrate its
dangers.154 In turn, Hermione accuses Andromache of witchcraft and
glosses it as a characteristically Asiatic form of deception:
153 Hall (1989) 209 argues that Hermione's valorisation of conspicuous wealth frames her
as a `barbaric Greek' and interprets the play as a whole (213f.) as constructing the
Spartans' possession of particularly reprehensible qualities through a contrast with the
unusually `noble' and Greek barbarian Andromache.
154 Lee (1975) gives an account of this play's exploration of notions of nature, convention, appearance and reality: `the contrasts and parallelisms which make up the Andromache can be seen as an illustration in dramatic form of the confusions of nomos
and phusis. This confusion is seen in relation to several areas of social and ethical
thinking which were under discussion in the latter part of the fth century: the divisions between free man and slave, barbarian and Greek, base born and noble, and the
problem of xed standards of behaviour. Also touched on in the play is the question of
what is real and whether we can come to a knowledge of it'. However, there is much
that Lee omits, particularly the relation of the play's treatment of doxa to Athenian
poetics, politics or ideology and the interesting point that while the play undermines
nomoi concerning barbarians, nobility and nothoi, the turpitude of Spartans remains
largely uncontested.
73
When Hermione expresses her barrenness (nhduv d' akumwn), she articulates her failure to full what Athenians would have perceived as a
woman's most important role in society.155 Hermione (falsely) blames
her inability to conceive (and hence, in Greek terms, her failure to be a
complete `woman') on Andromache's barbarian powers of cunning
witchcraft. Through the construction of Andromache as a stereotypically barbarian witch (`you barbarian creature': 261), Hermione initiates a process of scapegoating. This representation of Andromache
conforms to general Athenian dramatic topoi concerning natural traits
of duplicity in women as well as the more specic model of malevolent
deception in barbarian women which was most graphically exemplied
by literary and dramatic portrayals of Medea. As Edith Hall notes, it is
precisely the fact that Andromache's character fails to conform to the
Medea model which throws the Spartan characters' own transgressive
deployments of deception and power into sharp relief.156 For Hermione
believes she will be a match for Andromache (160) and following a
lengthy rhetorical altercation between the two women, she threatens
Andromache in the language of trickery and concealment: `such a bait
do I have for you. But no more of that, for I will hide my words and
the deed will soon speak for itself ' (toiond' e cw sou de lear. alla gar
logouv kruyw, to d' e rgon auto shmanei taca: 2645).
Through the metaphorical use of de lear (`bait' or `lure'), Hermione
represents herself as a cunning huntress and casts Andromache in the
role of a hunted animal. The term de lear is rarely attested in Greek
literature. It is used by Xenophon's Socrates in a description of the way
in which those who are not self-disciplined enough to be rulers of a
state will be `lured' away from their proper tasks by the prospect of
physical indulgences such as food. They will satisfy their stomachs
before fullling more important duties (Xen. Mem. 2.1.4). Hermione's
use of the term similarly implies that Andromache's `natural' inferiority
is ripe for easy exploitation. But Hermione's deployment of the term
de lear must also be understood in the light of the Athenian repre155 Arthur (1973) 50.
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75
76
77
164 This repetition is noted by Stevens (1971) 229. See also Poole (1994) 223, who
points out that the contrast between the Thessalian Neoptolemus and the Spartan
Menelaus can be mapped onto the fact that Thessalian cities were long-standing allies
of Athens. He also shows that other Euripidean plays exhibit a contrast between
Thessalians and Spartans to the disadvantage of the latter.
165 For sources and further bibliography on the pyrrhike at Athens see Borthwick (1970);
Parke (1977) 36 and Plate 7; Winkler (1990a) 556; Von Reden and Goldhill (1999)
269. On Neoptolemus' Pyrrhic dance and Trojan leap (1139) see Borthwick (1967).
Borthwick must be right to see a pun on Neoptolemus' other name Pyrrhus (Cypria fr.
16 D).
78
social or nancial status.166 I have already indicated that the characterisation of Menelaus and Hermione as devious and deceitful falls in line
with a wider Athenian discourse of stereotyping and self-denition.
Again, the Thucydidean funeral speech was seen to oer an exemplary
formulation of this discourse. But it may be a gross distortion to read
this drama purely as a propagandistic text of Athenian self-denition.
Although Menelaus is set up as a paradigmatically duplicitous Spartan,
both Andromache and Peleus comment on his position as a military
and political leader in terms which bring his questionable conduct
much closer to the internal concerns of the Athenian democratic polis.
It is far from original to suggest either that this or many other Attic
tragedies engage with the structure and rhetoric of democratic politics.167 However, in the light of recent tendencies to read tragedies
simply as performance texts which reinforce Athenian constructions of
the `other', and to advance my own argument concerning Athenian
representations of deceit in the political sphere, I wish to highlight
Andromache's and Peleus' comments on leadership and political
reputation.168
166 Thuc. 2.37.1: `. . . in public life men gain preference because of their deserts, when
anybody has a good reputation for anything: what matters is not rotation but excellence. As for poverty, if a man is able to do some good to the polis, he is not prevented by the obscurity of his distinction' (. . . kata de thn axi wsin, wv e kastov e n tw
eudokimei , ouk apo me rouv to ple on e v ta koina h ap' arethv protimatai, oud' au kata
peni an, e cwn ge ti agaqon drasai thn polin, axiwmatov ajanei a kekwlutai). The interpretation of this passage is vexed: see Hornblower (1991) 3001 for discussion and
bibliography. I am not convinced, pace Hornblower's comments and Roberts (1984)
73, that this passage necessarily or simply implies that those who are poor can only
benet their city by holding one of the democracy's routine rotating oces as opposed
to gaining an elective generalship. Certainly a distinction is made between rotation
oces (apo me rouv) and rewards of merit (ap' arethv). But where Hornblower translates axiwmatov ajanei a as `lack of authority' or `lack of distinction', I would argue
that `obscurity of distinction' could be an equally valid translation. Finley (1973) 24
similarly translates the phrase as `whatever the obscurity of his condition'. Pericles'
point could be that recognised excellence is rewarded by election to an oce of higher
prestige than routine posts, but that a poor citizen of low prole can still gain recognition and then election to a generalship if he benets the city. Perhaps we have a
deliberately vague formulation of the kind identied elsewhere in the speech by
Loraux (1986) 250. In this case, Thucydides' Pericles would be espousing the ideal
of equality of opportunity whilst implicitly recognising that in practice some citizens
are more equal than others. See Ober (1989) 194.
167 On Andromache in particular, see, for example, the low-key comments of Stevens
(1971) 1739. For tragedy's engagement with Athens' legal and political discourses,
see for example Zuntz (1963); Sad (1978); Goldhill (1988a) 22243; Ober and
Strauss (1990). On specic plays' engagement with questions of leadership in the
democracy, see Buxton (1982); Sourvinou-Inwood (1989); Grith (1995); Rose
(1995); Rosenbloom (1995); Foley (1995); Bowie (1997).
168 For an excellent account of the oscillation between `self ' and `other' in Euripides see
Croally (1994) 10315.
79
Menelaus marks his rst entrance with a vicious ultimatum to Andromache (30918). He has found her son and will only spare him if
she gives herself up to be killed. It transpires later that this is the trap of
which Hermione has spoken. Menelaus intends to kill mother and
child. Andromache replies with an outburst on the subject of false
appearances and undeserved reputation which I will examine in
more detail in my nal chapter (31963). Andromache exclaims that
Menelaus' reputation (doxa) is undeserved and sarcastically wonders
whether someone as low ( phaulos) as him could have led the chosen
men of Greece against Troy (31925).
At the end of her speech, Andromache points out that because of a
quarrel over a woman Menelaus destroyed her native city (36163).
Kovacs links these nal lines to her earlier reections on Menelaus'
true nature: `His worthlessness is proved in this present instant by the
disproportion between this petty quarrel between two women and
Menelaus' grossly exaggerated reaction. But come to think of it, the
Trojan War, far from providing prima facie evidence of Menelaus'
worth, is in fact another proof of his distorted values, since he raised an
army and destroyed Troy all for the sake of a woman.'169 In his confrontation with Menelaus, Peleus develops this evaluation of the war as
caused by Menelaus' base sense of proportion (590641). Menelaus
defends his right to protect the interests of his daughter and criticises
Neoptolemus for introducing a Trojan woman into his household
(64577). When he speaks of his generalship (strathgi an: 678), Menelaus' arguments are less convincing. He argues sophistically that
Helen was chosen by the gods to commit adultery and thereby enabled
Greece to grow to manhood when it had previously been innocent of
arms and battles (6804).170
Peleus responds that throughout Greece custom is badly conceived
(kaq' Ellad' wv kakwv nomi zetai: 693). He continues with some
damning comments about generalship. Peleus bemoans the fact that
when an army triumphs over their enemy,171 it is the general (strategos)
who gains in reputation (dokesis) (o strathgov thn dokhsin arnutai:
169 Kovacs (1980) 61. The notions that the war and suering at Troy are disproportionately large and that Helen is to be reviled are commonplaces: see Hom. Od.
11.438; Aesch. Ag. 14557; Eur. Cyc. 177f. and 280f., Troad. 975., El. 213, IT 525;
Gorg. Hel. 2 ( DK 82 b11.2).
170 See Helen's self-defence before Hecuba and Menelaus at Eur. Troad. 92450 for a
similar argument.
171 tropai a polemi wn sthsh literally means `set up trophies of the enemy' but Stevens
(1971) 179, argues that the phrase came to mean `triumph over'. See Eur. Andr. 763
and Soph. Trach. 1102. But as Stevens notes, the literal sense may also be appropriate
here.
80
696). Those who did all the hard work are ignored. All the talk is about
the general (oude n ple on drwn e nov e cei plei w logon: 698), even though
he brandished a single spear like everyone else (697). Arrogantly, those
who have authority in the polis think they are better than the people,
though they themselves are nobodies (semnoi d' e n arcai v hmenoi kata
ptolin jronousi dhmou mei zon, ontev oude nev: 699700). Peleus claims
that the masses are innitely wiser when they are gifted with boldness
and purpose (oi d' eisi n autwn muri w sojwteroi, ei tolma prosge noito
boulhsi v q' ama: 7012).172 He then accuses Menelaus and Agamemnon of basking lazily in their generalship whilst others suered
and toiled (7035).
It has been suggested that Peleus' criticisms might be directed at the
demagogue Cleon, who assumed command of a military expedition
during the siege of Pylos in 425.173 However, there can be no certainty
of this and I would prefer (albeit tentatively) to see the attack on
strategoi as a more sweeping reection on elite leadership and the institution of the strategia at Athens. Peleus' attack on the undeserved
reputation of generals is prefaced as bad custom throughout Greece. An
Athenian audience could have taken this to be an attack on the priorities of Greek heroic leadership implied in Homeric epic. And the
Iliad's representation of Agamemnon as a awed basileus sets o a
poetic tradition of criticising military commanders: one thinks of the
iambic poet Archilochus despising a `tall strategos' or one `who is proud
of his hair' and preferring a short and bowlegged man who is `rm on
his feet and full of heart' (fr. 60).174 Peleus' use of the term strategos
may not have been a `zooming device' that would provoke the Athenian audience to reect on `generalship' in their own present-day
experience. Even if it did cause them to think of contemporary
leadership, they might have read `throughout Greece' as referring to
everywhere except Athens in the same way that modern Britons do not
always think of themselves being addressed when politicians refer to
`Europe' or `Europeans'. But if an Athenian audience did interpret
172 These lines (699702) are bracketed in Diggle's OCT. My argument is not substantially altered by accepting their deletion.
173 See Stevens (1971) 178 who relates Peleus' words to Ar. Eq. 392: kat' anhr e doxen einai
tallotrion amwn qe rov. For Cleon's assumption of Nicias' command and his joint
leadership with the general Demosthenes in the siege of Pylos see Thuc. 4.27. The
Aristophanic reference perhaps picks up Cleon's claim that if the generals were men
they would take another eet to Pylos and take the Spartans by force. Nicias and the
people then forced Cleon to lead the expedition himself, and the Aristophanic line
implies that the success he claimed was due to Demosthenes rather than himself.
Such a specic reference would mean the play was performed after 425.
174 On Agamemnon as a bad leader in the Iliad, see Taplin (1990).
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discount the bitter critiques of certain post-Periclean strategoi and politicians who aspired to command which we nd in Thucydides and
Aristophanic comedy,180 it is clear that the loyalty, honesty and integrity of individual generals was constantly subjected to debate and
scrutiny.
If Andromache was performed at the City Dionysia, Peleus' comments on strategoi gained polemical force from the fact that all ten
elected strategoi would have been present in the audience. Prior to the
dramatic contests at the festival, all ten elected generals performed
libations.181 While this pre-play ceremony armed their status and
power as leading representatives in the democracy, Peleus' comments
would perhaps have invited the wider citizen audience to question
whether those representatives were truly worthy of that power and status. These comments are veiled, as one would expect from a tragedy.
Nevertheless, Peleus' emphasis on the tension between the honour and
renown solely attributed to generals and the possibilities of collective
wisdom and military commitment would perhaps resonate in a polis
which aorded power, privilege and recognition to individual strategoi
over and above the demos and yet valorised democratic decision making, equality before the law (isonomia) and collective military action as
central ideological tenets. As I suggested above, this interrogation of
generals' claims to competence and honour, along with an accusation
of elitist attitudes, would also sit uneasily with a pre-play ceremony
involving Athens' ten strategoi.
On this reading, Menelaus is not simply characterised as the typically deceptive Spartan. Andromache's verbal attacks and the selfrepresentations of Hermione and Menelaus develop a series of terms
through which their deployment of deceit, cunning and wealthy appearances are marked as resolutely unAthenian. But the terms in which
Menelaus' status as a strategos are discussed have more uneasy ramications for an Athenian audience. His behaviour prompts reections
on leadership which problematise an ideal representation of unscrupulous dishonesty, unwarranted status and a bogus reputation for
wisdom as attributes which could not be applied to an Athenian.
Menelaus seems to be typically Spartan but if, as Peleus suggests, he
is just like a host of other strategoi throughout Greece (kaq' Ellad'),
then this play highlights the uncomfortable possibility that Athens' political and military representatives are no better than the enemy.
180 See Henderson (1990).
181 See Goldhill (1990) 1001 for the evidence and a discussion of this opening ceremony, one of four which were `closely linked to a sense of the authority and dignity of
the polis' (106).
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84
85
86
87
the case for the existence of an Athenian ephebate as long as two centuries before the legislation of Lycurgus and his associates in the late
fourth century.7 The validity of a substantive link between the Melanthus myth and the pre-Lycurgan Apatouria has also been questioned.8
On the other hand, there is enough evidence to suggest that, even in
the early fourth century, young men between the ages of sixteen and
eighteen did some form of non-hoplitic military service, much of it involving security duties on the borders of Attica or Athens itself.9 And it
seems almost certain that, in the fth century, these young men had to
swear a `hoplite oath' when they came of age.10 Of course, neither of
these points proves the existence of an archaic or fth-century `liminal'
ephebeia as envisaged by Vidal-Naquet. However, his idea of an `inbetween period' involving institutionalised practices and associated
stories which were anti-hoplitic gains some credence when we think of
the deceptive behaviour of young male characters in Attic tragedy.11
Vidal-Naquet's argument also becomes more plausible when we remember that his idea of a liminal initiation is exemplied more fully by
the Spartan krupteia and has been identied securely in many other
cultures around the world.12 But even if the Melanthus story is to be
associated with a pre-Lycurgan Apatouria and/or some kind of ocial
ephebeia, does the story necessarily attest the symbolic `liminality' of
the Athenian `citizen-in-waiting'? Does the myth of Melanthus demonstrate that the Athenian ephebate was the same or performed the
same (practical or symbolic) function as the Spartan krupteia?13 These
questions are important for the study of apate at Athens because they
7 Even before Vidal-Naquet's original article, there had been much debate about a possible archaic or fth-century origin of an Athenian ephebate. See Pelekidis (1962) 717
for a survey of opinion.
8 See Maxwell-Stuart (1970) 11316.
9 For the evidence see Ober (1985b) 916 and Reinmuth (1971) 126.
10 See Siewert (1977). Reinmuth (1971) 124., concludes that the ephebeia was begun in
the early fth century, although Lycurgus' legislative programme in the 330s must have
aected the status of the institution.
11 E.g. Orestes in Aeschylus' Choephoroi or Neoptolemus in Sophocles' Philoctetes. See,
however, the critiques of Goldhill (1984) 163 and 196f., (1990) 1203.
12 See Jeanmaire (1913) 12150; (1939) 3823. On African rites of passage and the notion
of the adolescent communitas prior to integration into adult society see Van Gennep
(1909) and Turner (1967), (1969). But see also Kennell (1995) 1436 on the dangers
of viewing such rites as `primitive' or unchanging and (hence) a means of reconstructing archaic Greek rituals.
13 See Winkler (1990a) 34; `It is not necessarily the case that the youngest Athenian soldiers in this period were much exercised in mountain foraging and ambuscades as
Vidal-Naquet concludes from the Spartan parallel.' However as Winkler concedes,
Vidal-Naquet (1986b) 142 claries his position on this point: `What was true of the
Athenian ephebe at the level of myth is true of the Spartan kruptos in practice.'
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89
90
his story. All she says is that Codrus died `so as to preserve the throne
for his sons'. She does not mention the manner of Codrus' death. She
refers to the king as `your Codrus', implying that he is particularly
associated with Athens and perhaps that his story was generally held
to be exemplary for Athenians.
The scholion, claiming the fth-century historian Hellanicus as its
source, details the lineage of Codrus. Codrus' father was Melanthus
and the scholion describes his duel with Xanthus. The scholiast perhaps included the duel because he was just copying Hellanicus' entire
account of Codrus and his lineage, an account which itself highlighted
the extraordinary contest. On the other hand, the scholiast may have
stitched the narrative together himself, explaining Melanthus' appropriation of power in order to clarify Codrus' reign. But the story of
Melanthus' ruse also oers a thematic link with the scholion's account
of Codrus' death. The latter is provided as an explanation of Diotima's
passing reference.20 We are told (and the source is probably still Hellanicus) that during the reign of Codrus, the Dorians invaded Attica.
The Delphic oracle had told the Dorians that they would defeat Athens
if Codrus' life was spared. Codrus heard about this oracle and when
the Dorians had surrounded Athens, he disguised himself as a woodcutter. Taking an axe with him, he left the safety of the city and set out
towards the enemy. Two Dorian soldiers encountered him and Codrus
killed one of them. The other Dorian was fooled by the disguise and
killed Codrus. In accordance with the oracle, Athens could no longer
be captured and the Dorians withdrew. The scholion says that Codrus'
eldest son Medon became king.
If this story really does come from a history by Hellanicus then it
may have been circulating in fth-century Athens. The fth-century
historian Pherecydes may also have written the same story.21 Inscriptional evidence shows that there was a sanctuary dedicated to Codrus
on the outskirts of Athens from the early fth century onwards.22 The
testimony of Pausanias indicates that the sanctuary was believed to
20 Hellanicus 323a FGrH f23. For an exhaustive list of sources referring to Codrus, see
Schlering RE xi, 98494.
21 Pherecydes FGrH 1.98.110 ( Poll. 10.128).
22 See Wheeler (1887) for the text of the inscription and discussion. The inscription is in
the form of a decree and can be dated to 418/17. It is concerned with the leasing and
maintenance of a sanctuary of the cult of Codrus, Neleus and Basile. See also Wycherley (1960) 606; Shapiro (1986) 1346. Burn (1989) 657 argues that Codrus and
Basile gained fresh prominence in Athenian cult and art in late fth-century Athens.
For general discussion of the Athenian hero-cult of Codrus and its representation in
public art, see Kron (1976) 271 .
91
have marked the spot where Codrus fell.23 But we cannot be sure that
Diotima is referring to exactly the same story as that outlined in the
scholion. A kylix vase painting of c. 430 has been used to argue that
there was another very dierent version of Codrus' exploit.24 It depicts
Codrus in full hoplite armour, apparently (though by no means certainly) bidding farewell to an older man called Ainetus.25 The scene
occupies the inside of the cup. The other two scenes on the outside of
the kylix seem to depict farewells and departures by mythological gures who have a connection with Athens. Theseus as an armed ephebe
leaves his father Aigeus and is accompanied by Phorbas. The latter is
dressed as a hoplite and Medea is handing him his helmet. On the
other side of the cup, Ajax and Mnestheus take their leave of Lycaeus
(brother of Aigeus and eponymous hero of the Athenian district of the
Lycaeus) and Melite (eponymous heroine of a city deme). Mnestheus
is beckoned on by Athena.26 So, these outer scenes are linked by the
themes of farewell and departure but it is hard to tell which conict or
adventure Theseus is departing for.27 The Ajax and Mnestheus scene
probably depicts their departure for Troy.28 Given this thematic link
between the two outer scenes, it is attractive to see the Codrus scene as
a representation of the king before he goes out to ght the Dorian invaders. This representation of Codrus as a hoplite is a far cry from
Hellanicus' depiction of him donning the disguise of a woodcutter to
confront the Dorians on his own. As Lissarrague has shown, there are
many fth-century vases which depict identied or unidentied hoplite
warriors taking their leave of older men, and/or women, and/or lightly
armed assistants.29 It has been suggested that the picture of Codrus on
the Bologna kylix does not refer to any mythological narrative circulating in Athens and is an isolated improvisation by the vase painter.30
But the other scenes do seem to refer to specic events in myth which
23 Paus. 1.19.6; Wheeler (1887); Harrison and Verrall (1890) 2289.
24 LIMC i.2 309, Aenetos 1; ARV 2 1268, no. 1.; CVA Bologna PU 273.
25 Burn (1989) 66 conjectures that Ainetus is a seer who revealed to Codrus the manner
of his death or else an otherwise unknown Attic hero.
26 On the vase, Mnestheus' stance and position parallel that of Phorbas in the other
scene. Interestingly, Mnestheus is dressed similarly to the ephebic Theseus in the
other scene. Both have the same hat, cloak and do not have shields. Mnestheus' companion Ajax occupies a parallel position to Theseus, but, like Phorbas, he is dressed as
a hoplite.
27 Theseus may be departing to ght the Amazons; Burn (1989) 66.
28 Burn (1989) 66. At Hom. Il. 2.54556, Mnestheus is the leader of the Athenian contingent in the Greek expedition to Troy.
29 Lissarrague (1989).
30 Harrison and Verrall (1890) cxliii.
92
would have been recognisable. Thus there may have been a simpler
story which did not involve a ruse perhaps a version in which the
Athenians engaged the Dorians in battle and Codrus was killed in the
ght.31 I will return to the signicance of an alternative version without
a ruse later. For the present, I wish to refer to the version outlined by
the scholion and a very important instantiation of it in a legal speech
from the fourth century.
Like Diotima, Vidal-Naquet gives a passing reference to Codrus.32
Unlike Diotima, he acknowledges that Codrus is said to have been
involved in a military deception. He sees that this story is thematically
linked with the ruse deployed by Codrus' father, Melanthus. Because
Vidal-Naquet is primarily interested in the details of Melanthus' duel
and its representation as an aition for the Apatouria, he leaves the
Codrus tale to one side and does not explore its signicance as an
Athenian myth of deception. But if, as Vidal-Naquet recognises, the
scholion/Hellanicus fragment demonstrates a kinship between Codrus
and Melanthus which is grounded in military metis as well as biology,
then we need to take great care in privileging the cultural signicance
of the one story over the other. The Melanthus story may well be
related to an Athenian rite de passage. Codrus' ruse is not valorised
as an aition for any Athenian institution or ceremony but, as I will
show, it is used ideologically in Athenian public discourse. Furthermore, Vidal-Naquet starts with a premise that the features of the Melanthus tale correspond to notions which are paradigmatically opposed
to the Athenan hoplite ideal. It is impossible to deny that apate is a
negative term in several texts which discuss and dene Athenian identity and values; my previous chapter attempted to show how this strand
of ideological opposition is manipulated in Athens' political and legal
discourses. But this ideological opposition represents only one identiable construction of apate. Through the gure of Codrus, this section
aims to show, not that Vidal-Naquet's particular conclusions are necessarily wrong, but that his and other scholars' premises are too re31 Arist. Pol. 5.1310b36 refers to Codrus saving the city in the context of a discussion of
men becoming kings through recognition of great benets they have brought about for
their community. This implies that there was a tradition in which Codrus saved Athens
and survived before he became king. Is Aristotle referring to a version where Codrus
somehow drives away the Dorians and is made king as a consequence? Or is this another exploit of Codrus entirely? Newman (1902) 420, suggests that Aristotle is making an error, but it is always possible that Aristotle and the Bologna kylix describe a
completely dierent exploit by Codrus and not an alternative version of his death
during the Dorian invasion.
32 Vidal-Naquet (1986a) 110.
93
94
In this account, Codrus' disguise involves dressing down to the appearance of a beggar (labonta ptwcikhn stolhn). Even more than the
guise of the woodcutter as presented in other accounts of this story,
Codrus' transformation into a beggar marks a complete reversal of his
social status.35 Like the Homeric Odysseus back on Ithaca, Codrus
uses the supercial trappings of the beggar to make his royal status
unrecognisable.36 The content of the oracle makes a ruse involving this
eacement and replacement of Codrus' social identity a necessity if
Athens is to be saved. Unlike the Homeric Odysseus, however, Codrus
regains his identity in memorialisation alone. Odysseus uses deceit and
violence to survive and claim back his wife, household and his territorial rights over Ithaca. In short, Odysseus' deceit of the suitors facilitates his return to full social identity as king of Ithaca. Codrus' ruse,
although similarly formulated in terms of disguise and violence, is
conceived specically for the purpose of self-annihilation. Codrus dies
a beggar, but is remembered as a king. Several sources indicate that
Codrus was the last king of Athens because his sons quarrelled over the
34 ou katalipontev thn cwran wsper Lewkrathv . . . all' oli goi ontev katakleisqe ntev
e poliorkounto kai diekarte roun ei v thn patri da.
35 Burkert (1985) 84 sees Codrus' disguise as a beggar and self-sacrice as a mythical
echo of Athenian pharmakos ritual. See also Seaford (1994a) 345.
36 See Murnaghan (1987) 9: `Odysseus' disguise testies to the reality of the suitors'
challenge but it also belittles it; it is a sign of their temporary ascendancy, but also a
resource that ensures his eventual and inevitable triumph over them.' On the Homeric
Odysseus as a deceiver and in beggar's disguise, see also Goldhill (1991) 612 and 24
56.
95
96
97
dictions between normative statements relating to military action. According to the evolutionary model, military trickery becomes more
admissible in public normative statements because warfare involving
trickery has become more prevalent and necessary. Whitehead has
recently dismissed a similar evolutionary model.40 With reference to
the notion of theft in Greek warfare (kloph pole mou), he argues that
military trickery was `an inescapably ambivalent concept, within the
broader ambivalence of ancient attitudes towards appropriate and inappropriate routes to military success and to admirable and despicable
human qualities therein displayed'.41 I will be taking issue with the explanatory power of Whitehead's identication of military trickery as an
`ambivalent' notion, but he is right to emphasise that an evolutionary
account fails to recognise the fact that tension over the admissibility of
military apate persists throughout the classical period. We need a more
exible and nuanced model that can account for the dierent and differing discussions of military deceit which appear in Athenian texts.
But before I present such a model I want to outline some of the `evolutionary' factors which undoubtedly informed the representation of
military apate during and after the Peloponnesian War.
We could conjecture, for example, that the acceptability of apate to
Lycurgus is due to the ever-increasing use of specialised non-hoplite
units and professional troops during the Peloponnesian War and into
the fourth century.42 The ruse and the ambush were never really absent
from practical Athenian strategy and tactics, but there was a change in
emphasis which was dictated by the vulnerability of hoplite units when
faced with certain terrains and an enemy that would not play the hoplite game.43
Thucydides implicitly charts this change in tactics in several accounts of Athenian campaigns in the war. He tells of a few occasions
when Athenian strategoi deployed military trickery or told outright lies
when negotiating with the enemy in order to secure victory or safety.44
40 Whitehead (1988). Whitehead's model proposes an evolution between pre-classical
and classical combat. He dismisses this model because `it distorts and caricatures both
phases of the supposed development'.
41 Whitehead (1988) 51.
42 See Wheeler (1991) 136. on the rise of techne in the second half of the fth century,
both in the sense of warfare involving deception and as involving a valorisation of
teachable skills as opposed to native courage. See also Heza (1974) and Sad and
Trede (1985).
43 See Ober (1991) passim.
44 See Thuc. 3.91112, where the Athenian general Demosthenes deploys some of his
hoplites in an ambush after his men have been ambushed on a previous occasion. For
other examples in Thucydides, see Heza (1974).
98
99
100
toration of the democracy in 404.49 For Ober this new mentality involved the strengthening of defence and security for the entire Attic
territory (chora) rather than continued emphasis on protecting the city
of Athens alone and investment in naval power. Ober's arguments for
this new unPericlean mentality have been subject to eective critique,
most notably by Harding and Munn.50 There may not have been such
a great change in military organisation in the fourth century as an
immediate and sweeping response to `mistakes' made in the Peloponnesian War. After all, the Athenians rebuilt their eet and the Long
Walls as soon as they could.51 Nor did changes in military organisation
necessarily amount to a `Maginot-line mentality' in the manner that
Ober suggests. Munn argues that fourth-century fortresses were not
designed to repel invaders and could easily be bypassed.52 Rather, they
oered security and refuge for the property and people situated in the
countryside in the event of attack. But even Munn's account points to
new or renewed investment in the in situ protection of those living and
working in the countryside.
This investment must in part have been a reaction against Pericles'
unmanly policy of evacuating the countryside of Attica and leaving it to
be ravaged by the enemy.53 Even if there was no movement towards a
`Maginot-line' defence of Attica, the evidence does suggest that those
who lived and worked on the frontiers were given more protection. The
public rhetoric of the fourth century emphasises the security of, and
protection within the entire Attic chora; fortications were eventually
built on the borders of Attica, mountain passes were watched and, for
the rst time, a generalship was created for the specic purpose of
co-ordinating this policy of permanent vigilance.54 Many scholars, including Vidal-Naquet, have noted evidence from Aeschines that young
men of `ephebic' age were deployed to patrol the border regions as
peripoloi during this period.55 Munn argues that it was the Boiotian War
49
50
51
52
101
102
103
turies.61 He points out that there are very few recorded examples of
ambushes or surprise attacks being deployed in conict between hoplite armies. Pritchett maintains that hoplite battle was bound by codes
of openness and agreement between the two sides and implies that this
remained the central mode of land warfare, despite the increasing use
of lightly armed troops and mercenaries. He emphasises that most examples of surprise attack and ambush come from contexts where a city
is under siege or where non-hoplitic forces are involved. Pritchett does
not even mention the verbal trickery of Themistocles or Paches, perhaps because he is primarily interested in establishing the tactics and
techniques of leadership that were used on the battleeld, rather than
verbal negotiations that occurred between opposed generals prior to, or
during a cessation of physical hostilities. The evaluation of past military conduct in the orators is also apparently beyond the scope of his
work, and he tends to extrapolate Greek military values from the relative frequencies of historical descriptions of kinds of military practice,
rather than through any detailed examination of what conduct and
values Greek writers and orators praise or attack.62
Such a `bracketing o ' of these aspects and evaluations of military
conduct in Pritchett's work is both troubling and useful. It is useful
because it helps us to gain some sense of what constituted `normative'
military conduct in classical Greece. It is troubling because it has encouraged commentators to measure any Athenian representation of
military conduct against a single, dominant practice and its associated
value-system, namely hoplite conict.63 Thus, Vidal-Naquet and Winkler read the myth of Melanthus' ruse and the Athenian ephebeia in
terms of the opposed practice and ideology of hoplitism. Because
manhood, citizenship and hoplite identity were constituted as inextricably interwoven at Athens, they may be right to interpret the Apatouria in this manner. The notion that hoplite ideology was a central
structuring principle in Athenian society has been fruitfully argued and
applied in recent years. But did the Athenians measure all military
conduct against hoplite values? Or rather, was there any room to set up
61 See Pritchett (1974) 14789.
62 Pritchett does use the Attic orators, but he trawls them for evidence of tactics and
military practices, rather than evaluations of military conduct.
63 As I pointed out in chapter 1 and as Paul Cartledge has emphasised to me, the navy
was in reality far more `dominant' than the hoplite army during the Athenian empire's
ascendancy in the fth century. See Thuc. 2.62. It became dominant again in the rst
half of the fourth century. The land-based arrangements described by Ober (1985a)
and Munn (1993) were the defensive counterpart to naval oence.
104
105
106
107
108
gure labelled Apate dressed in a leopard skin and hunting boots. She
holds two torches.72 To her right is the labelled female gure Asia who
is attended by Aphrodite. To her immediate left stands Athena and
then a female personication of Hellas. Hellas is anked on the left by
Artemis, Nike (Victory), Apollo and Zeus. Beneath this depiction of
the divine and daimonic machinery behind the Persian Wars are two
scenes depicting the Persian king Darius at court. In one scene he sits
on a throne attended by a guard with drawn sword while a man on a
plinth marked `Persai' gestures to him with two ngers. On the lowest
band Darius is represented again but this time he is receiving tribute
from kneeling Persians while a servant chalks up the amount of wealth
received in talants. The gure of Apate foregrounds the Persians' error
of judgement, although the juxtaposition of Athena and Apate must
also imply a divine source for Greek or specically Athenian cunning in
their campaigns against the Persians. Scholars think it likely that the
vase treats the battle of Marathon and have noted the possible inuence of tragedy on the vase's depictions. It is possible that the vase
represents a lost fth- or fourth-century tragedy.73 It is certainly the
case that the theme of divine and daimonic apate as a force which
deludes Xerxes into military action is recurrent and prominent in
Aeschylus' Persians.74
An equally obvious but more problematic witness to the acceptability
of `deceiving the enemy' in the late fth and early fourth centuries is
Plato. In the second book of the Republic, Socrates interrogates the
poets' representations of the gods. In the course of his critique, Socrates asks if the gods really resort to deceit and disguise as Homer says
they do (2.382a1). Before providing the answer to his own question, he
rst makes a distinction between `true falsehood' or `the true lie' (wv
alhqwv yeudov) and the `falsehood in words' or the `lie in words' (to e n
toi v logoiv yeudov). I will return to this important distinction in the
next chapter. For the present, it is only necessary to explain what Soc72 Cornford (1907) 1946 argues that Apate is `about to perform the ritual proper to the
declaration of war the act of throwing a burning torch between the combatants'.
Cornford cites a scholion on Eur. Phoen. 1377 as evidence for this custom. But see
Mastronarde (1994) 5345 for the point that the scholion may be making this custom
up in order to explain Phoen. 1377.
73 On the vase's depiction of history and its probable tragic inspiration, see Anti (1952);
Trendall and Webster (1971) 112; Hall (1996) 8. Cornford (1907) 194f. uses the vase's
depiction of Apate to argue that `deception' as a cause of military folly is a mythic or
tragic theme which inuences Thucydidean narrative.
74 See Aesch. Pers. 91114; 361f.; 472f.; 74450; 1005. For the important contrast
between the words of Darius' ghost and the other characters' and chorus' postulation
of divine deceit and delusion sent by the gods as a cause of the Persian defeat, see
Winnington-Ingram (1983) 115.
109
110
does so in order to make a brief theological point, namely that the gods
never deceive because, unlike mortals, they have no use for deception.
Why do gods have no use for lies? Socrates answers as follows; no mad
or senseless person can be a friend of a god, so no god needs to lie to
his friend. Furthermore, no god need have recourse to mythological
invention; it would be absurd to suggest that a god could be ignorant of
antiquity (2.382d5e11). When it comes to the question of gods deceiving enemies, Socrates' solution is very revealing. Like the other two
solutions, it is itself couched in the form of a question; `but would he
lla dediwv touv e cqrouv yeudoito;:
lie to his enemies out of fear?' ( A
2.382d11). To this, Adeimantus simply replies `certainly not' and the
issue is closed. Socrates introduces the idea that people have a specic
motivation for deceiving an enemy. He missed this out when he was
actually discussing the motives for acceptable deceit between mortals.
The motivation is fear (dediwv). From Socrates' question, then, we can
deduce that he assumes that mortals deceive their enemies when they
are afraid of them. It is therefore absurd for a poet to represent the
gods deceiving their echthroi because no god could really be afraid of
his or her enemies.79
What are we to make of this characterisation of using lies against an
enemy? Firstly, it provides more evidence that military trickery is of
contested value. Plato's Socrates speaks of `deceiving the enemy' as if it
is generally agreed by his community to be morally acceptable. But
when we speak of `community' here, what do we mean? Does Socrates'
view of a `general' moral belief count as evidence for what all citizens of
Athens would believe? Or can we only ascribe this belief to the small
political, intellectual and sometimes pro-Spartan, often anti-democratic
elite which constitutes Plato's depiction of the Socratic `circle'?80 For
79 It is dicult to know if there is any reason why Socrates uses the term polemioi in the
context of mortal deceit and echthroi when talking about immortals. But it is clear that
polemios delineates a military enemy and therefore it seems fair to assume that, in the
context of mortal deceit, Socrates has military hostility in mind, at least in part.
However, the fact that Socrates does not make any clear distinction between hostility
in warfare and day-to-day enmity within a community should not be ignored. When
Socrates identies the acceptability of `deceiving the enemy', he may be discussing all
forms of enmity without making any distinction between the realms of military conict, politics or private relations.
80 On this, see Winkler (1990b) 172: `Athens was a society in which philosophers were
often ignored and, when noticed, were easily represented not as authority gures but
as cranks or buoons.' See also Cartledge (1993) 910. For the inuence of Spartan
oligarchic structures on Platonic thought see Powell (1994). For the Platonic representation of Socratic philosophic activity as `outside' of and `alien' to traditional and
democratic discourses see Nightingale (1995) 1359. Von Reden and Goldhill (1999)
discuss the way in which Platonic dialogues self-consciously position philosophic discussion in relation to and yet at the margins of democratic sites of performance and
social and political exchange.
111
112
honour' when they stood their ground to face the enemy. They died at
`the crowning moment of glory, rather than fear' (to me n aiscron tou
logou e jugon, to d' e rgon tw swmati upe meinan kai di' e laci stou kairou
tuchv ama akmh thv doxhv mallon h tou de ouv aphllaghsan: 2.42.4).
Similarly, Lysias' funeral speech emphasises the absence of fear among
the democratic forces who fought Spartans and oligarchic sympathisers
in the aftermath of Aegospotami:
Nevertheless, having felt no fear of the multitude of their opponents (ou to
plhqov twn e nanti wn fobhqe ntev), and having exposed their own bodies to
danger, they set up a trophy over their enemies, and now nd witnesses to their
excellence, close to this monument, in the tombs of the Lacedaemonians.
(Lysias 2.63)
113
114
89 In Plato's Hippias Minor, Socrates expresses a preference for Odysseus over Achilles
because the former hero lies knowingly whereas the latter utters falsehoods through
ignorance. See below pp. 1212 and Blundell (1992); Pratt (1993) 154, n. 40.
90 See Vidal-Naquet (1986b) 128, n. 3 who writes that Xenophon's work on war and
hunting and `his modication of the hoplite tradition' have `a polemical signicance
that has hardly been noticed'.
115
116
(hoplite) rather than in the image of what he temporarily had to become in order to achieve `la belle mort'.92
On the other hand, the Bologna kylix may simply mark a dierent
version of Codrus' exploit a version in which Hellanicus' and Lycurgus' theme of deceit is erased. If that is the case, the contrast between the two versions (the contested representation of a civic hero) is
still instructive. Two versions would attest to the problematisation of
military trickery in `public' representations in the late fth century.
Perhaps in the 430s it was too problematic for Hellanicus' narrative of
Codrus' deception to be represented and valorised, either in public art
or rhetoric. After all, the vase dates to around the time when it is the
Spartan enemy which is being stereotyped as tricky and dishonest. But
a hundred years later, the version in which Codrus tricks his enemy is
easily co-opted into Lycurgus' hoplitism, and is in no way problematic
for public representation. This may well be due to the fact that the trick
is presented in terms of self-sacrice and collective values. In the realm
of Athenian military ideology, the trickster does not always remain at
the negative end of a polarised opposition in relation to the hoplite.
Whether Vidal-Naquet's interpretation of Melanthus and the ephebeia
has any signicant purchase on Athenian institutions and ideology in
the democracy before the ocial ephebate was instituted remains an
open question. But the representations of Codrus that I have discussed
must oer a challenge to the idea that public Athens always constituted
military apate as ideologically negative or resolutely `anti-hoplitic'. At
the same time, the Bologna image of Codrus as a hoplite remains an
important emblem of the Athenian imaginary. Codrus' trickery makes
sense as a praiseworthy action only if it is termed within the language
and narrative which, at the same time as such trickery runs counter to
the lineaments of hoplite practice, nevertheless evinces the collective
values of hoplite bravery and sacrice. It is this negotiation between
trickery and hoplitism which Lycurgus' rhetoric exemplies.93
It could be objected that my argument needlessly attempts to maintain an opposition between deception and hoplite identity or ephebic
trickery and hoplite `honesty'. If Codrus' ruse is praised by Lycurgus, if
apate and dolos are implied to be Athens' allies in Aeschylus' Persians, if
Plato, Xenophon, Andocides and a number of other sources all attest
the acceptability of military trickery, then why speak of `negotiation' at
all? Surely, the evidence suggests that Vidal-Naquet and others were
92 For this expression and its resonances, see Loraux (1982).
93 The positive colour of Codrus' deceit might even be suggested by the bare bones of the
story in Hellanicus.
117
118
119
Aeschylus wrote a tragedy which depicted the krisis itself.100 Antisthenes' pair of speeches undoubtedly constitute an exercise in rhetorical composition and ethopoiia.101 It is also likely that some of
Odysseus' arguments and character pregure certain values which
embodied Antisthenes' philosophical outlook.102 But the choice of this
particular mythological dispute and the arguments which the speeches
mobilise can be seen to illustrate the extent to which the (in)admissibility of military deceit had become a problem for Athenian denitions
of the good, courageous warrior. I will briey summarise the relevant
arguments put forward in the two speeches.
In his speech, Ajax makes claim to the armour by belittling Odysseus' theft of the Palladion. The theft served no purpose and he calls
Odysseus a `temple-robber'. Predictably, he claims that Odysseus only
wants the armour to sell it; he is too cowardly to wear it. Ajax only
wants the armour so that he can give it to Achilles' philoi. He contrasts
his character with that of Odysseus tellingly; no project exists that
Odysseus would undertake openly, whereas Ajax could not bear to do
anything underhand.103 Ajax would rather suer terribly than gain a
bad reputation. Odysseus would not care if he was hanged, if he could
prot by it. Odysseus allows himself to be beaten and whipped, dresses
up in rags and slips out by night to commit sacrilege in the enemy's
temples. Ajax nally belittles mere logoi and argues that a man who
talks is useless. To judge arete and military conduct, you have to look at
deeds (erga), rather than words (logoi ).
Unsurprisingly, Odysseus' speech is longer, funnier and cleverer
than the somewhat inept eort of Ajax. He claims that he has rendered
the army many good services and points out to the judges that they
have engaged in no battle in which he has not participated, while they
have not shared in the peculiar dangers which he has faced. Odysseus
stresses that the object of battle is to win and that the Palladion belonged to the Greeks in the rst place. It was known that Troy could
not be taken unless the statue was recovered. Odysseus questions the
notion that Ajax is superior just because he acted in the company of the
whole army. He belittles Ajax's claims to arete, representing him as
rushing around like a wild boar who is likely to kill himself by falling
over. The truly brave man should not suer any injury, whether from
himself, a comrade or the enemy. Ajax's use of armour is a sign of
100
101
102
103
120
121
the terms in which the denition of military arete and andreia could be
problematised and renegotiated through an opposition between armed,
collective and open confrontation and tactics involving stealth, deceit,
secrecy and monomachia. Furthermore, Odysseus' cunning and stealth
take him into self-confessed `banausic' activity: as helmsman and
guardian of the army he is not afraid to see himself as a `worker' or to
undergo the degradations necessary to be a plausible beggar or slave.
There is a sense here of an association between military cunning and
`low' social status which I will have cause to return to in the next section. But Odysseus' arguments clearly pose a serious challenge to
Ajax's traditional view of military valour: Antisthenes gives weight to
the value of `getting your hands dirty' and dirty tricks. Taken together,
Odysseus' and Ajax's speeches oer us a crude mirror of military
deceit's moral and ideological signicance and its conicting public
representations.
The Platonic Hippias Minor must be placed in a similar intellectual
context to that of Antisthenes. In this dialogue Socrates' praise of
Odysseus' knowing use of lies and his attack on Achilles' ignorant expression of falsehoods is so paradoxical and self-referential in tone that
Stanford refused to take it as a serious example of a positive classical
representation of the trickster-hero.106 Through some cunning (and to
modern tastes, pedantic) literary analysis Socrates dismantles Hippias'
assertion that Achilles is better than Odysseus because Homer represents Achilles as `simple and true' (alhqhv te kai aplouv) while he
makes Odysseus `polytropic and false' (polutropov te kai yeudhv:
365b35). As evidence for this conclusion the sophist cites the Homeric
Achilles' famous attack on Odysseus as the man who hides one thing in
his heart and says another (365a1b2, Hom. Il. 9.31213). Socrates
departs from Homeric interpretation and sets out to show that one and
the same man can be both `true' and `false' (365d9.). He argues that
the wise and just man who lies or does wrong knowingly is always
better than the man who does wrong or utters falsehoods without
knowing that he is doing so. Those who possess skills and knowledge
can pretend to be unskilled or ignorant, but the unskilled and ignorant
cannot be skilled and knowledgeable. He argues that the Homeric
Odysseus always lies willingly and with knowledge of the truth.
Achilles, on the other hand, either deliberately tells lies or utters false106 Stanford (1954) 250, n. 38. For the way in which Socrates seems to enact the qualities
of Odysseus, whilst representing himself as the ignorant Achilles and Hippias as the
knowledgeable Achilles, see the excellent analyses of Blundell (1992); and Napolitano
Valditara (1994) 12642.
122
123
107 Although I will argue that the ideas and methods of `Socrates' do haunt the exchange.
108 Gera (1993) 50.
124
rects his son on matters of military tactics and leadership; he listens to,
and answers, Cyrus' questions. Cyrus has had specialist teaching in the
art of generalship, but Cambyses shows him that there are many gaps
and faults in his learning. He reviews Cyrus' knowledge and instructs
him on the subject of supplies, health, the martial arts, rousing the
troops and maintaining their obedience (1.6.1626). Having discussed
these matters of essential knowledge, Cyrus asks his father if a general
who has dealt with all these matters should go ahead and attack the
enemy as soon as he can. Cambyses replies that a commander should
only initiate action against the foe if he expects to `gain an advantage'
over the enemy (ei me lloi ge plei on e xein: 1.6.26). When Cyrus asks his
father to tell him the best way (malista) to gain such an advantage,
Cambyses replies as follows:
`By Zeus', he said, `this is not a trivial or a simple issue that you ask me about,
my son. But know this well that the man who intends to do this must be designing and stealthy, tricky and deceitful, a thief and a robber, overreaching the
enemy in all things' (e pi boulon einai kai kruyi noun kai doleron kai apatewna
kai kle pthn kai arpaga kai e n panti pleone kthn twn polemi wn). (Xenophon
Cyropaedia 1.6.27)
125
deceive a man, I know that I got a good beating for it' (1.6.29).109
Cambyses explains that Cyrus and his friends were permitted to shoot
and throw a spear at a target but not at people this was to prevent the
youths from harming their friends ( philoi ) at the time. However the
target practice ensured that the boys would be able to aim well at men
in the event of a war. Along similar lines, Cambyses then explains that
Cyrus was taught to deceive and take advantage only of beasts so that
he might not harm his friends: nevertheless such training would enable
him to use deception against a human enemy in a future war (1.6.29).
Cyrus is still puzzled (1.6.30). He asks Cambyses why he was not
taught how to do good and bad to men, given that Cambyses has
pointed out that a military commander also needs to understand the
latter branch of knowledge. In response, Cambyses reveals that in
former generations there was a teacher of the boys who taught them
justice in the very manner which Cyrus proposes: `to lie, and not to lie,
to cheat and not to cheat, to slander and not to slander, to take and
not to take unfair advantage' (1.6.31).110 He `drew the line' (diwrize)
between what one must do to one's friends and what one must do to
one's enemies. This anonymous teacher (didaskalos) also taught the
boys that it was right (di kaion) to deceive friends, provided it was for a
good end (e pi agaqw), and to steal the possessions of a friend if it was
for a good purpose (1.6.31). He trained the boys to practise deceit
upon each other, `just as also in wrestling, the Greeks, they say, teach
deception and train the boys to be able to practise it upon one another'
(1.6.32).111 Unfortunately, when some of the boys had become experts
in apate and perhaps even philokerdia (avarice), they started to take
unfair advantage ( pleonektein) of their friends (1.6.32).
As a consequence of this, important legislation was introduced: `an
ordinance (rhetra) was passed which obtains even today, simply to
teach our boys, just as we teach our slaves in their relations to us, to tell
the truth and not to deceive and not to take unfair advantage'
(1.6.33).112 Cambyses adds that the law requires any boys who out its
109 Nai ma Di ', e jh, qhri wn ge anqrwpwn de ei kai doxaimi boulesqai e xapathsai tina,
pollav plhgav oida lambanwn.
110 Alla le getai, e jh, w pai , e pi hmete rwn progonwn gene sqai pote anhr didaskalov twn
pai dwn, ov e di dasken ara touv pai dav thn dikaiosunhn, wsper su keleueiv, mh yeudesqai
kai yeudesqai, kai mh e xapatan kai e xapatan, kai mh diaballein kai diaballein, kai mh
pleonektei n kai pleonektei n.
111 . . . wsper kai e n palh jasi touv Ellhnav didaskein e xapatan, kai gumnazein de touv
pai dav prov allhlouv touto dunasqai poiei n.
112 e ge neto oun e k toutwn rhtra, h kai nun crwmeqa e ti, aplwv didaskein touv pai dav
wsper touv oi ke tav prov hmav autouv didaskomen alhqeuein kai mh e xapatan kai mh
pleonektei n.
126
127
128
129
130
131
orabilia.131 The argument that it is just to deceive enemies and sometimes friends is also found in the Dissoi Logoi and I have previously
mentioned similar ideas which are expressed in Plato's Republic.132 (I
will be returning to these texts in my next chapter.) The didaskalos'
methods, which are thus inscribed with Greek sophistic and `Socratic'
teaching about apate and pseude demonstrate, through their consequences, a diculty surrounding the ascription of a moral licence to
military trickery. Cambyses equates such methods specically, and
perhaps somewhat disparagingly, with the fact that the Greeks use
wrestling to teach deception and train boys to practise it upon one
another (1.6.31). Platonic and sophistic texts frequently associate the
art of wrestling with rhetorical training,133 but the link between the art
of tricking the enemy and the practice of deception in games is also
demonstrated by one of Xenophon's own texts, the Hipparchicus, a
treatise on how to be a good Athenian cavalry commander. The treatise is unequivocal about the importance of knowing how to deceive the
enemy:
The means to employ for scaring the enemy are false ambushes, false reliefs
and false messages. The enemy's condence is greatest when he is told that
the other side is experiencing diculties and is preoccupied. But given these
instructions, a man must himself invent a deception (mhcanasqai apatan) to
meet every emergency as it occurs. For there really is nothing more protable
in war than deception. Even children are successful deceivers when they play
`guess the number'; they will hold up a few counters and make believe that they
have many, and seem to hold up few when they are holding many. Surely men
can invent similar tricks when they are putting their mind to deception? And
on thinking over the successes gained in war you will nd that most and the
biggest of these have been won with the aid of deception (kai e nqumoumenov d' an
ta e n toi v pole moiv pleonekthmata euroi an tiv ta plei sta kai me gista sun apath
gegenhme na). For these reasons either you should not try to command, or you
should pray to heaven that your equipment may include this capability and you
should contrive on your own part to possess it. (Xenophon Hipparchicus 5.811)
131 Xen. Mem. 4.2.14. See Gera (1993) 6872. Von Arnim (1923) 1889 argues on the
basis of this parallel that Xenophon wants the reader to identify the didaskalos with
Socrates specically. Gigon (1956) 878 has further parallels for an argument that
Protagoras may be the source.
132 See Diss. Log. 3.25 in the text of Robinson (1979); Pl. Resp. 1.331b1c9 and 2.382a1
e11. Nestle (1940) 3542, argues that the words of Cambyses' didaskalos and the
passage in the Dissoi Logoi are based on a lost work of Gorgias. But as Gera (1993) 69,
n. 144 points out, he ignores the Memorabilia parallel.
133 E.g. Pl. Grg. 456b57b, where Gorgias compares democratic debate to wrestling or
boxing contests and views rhetoric as analogous to the skills used in these contests.
See Yunis (1996) 1506 for this comparison as a Platonic emblem of sophistry's
`short-term' view of public rhetoric's goals. See Gera (1993) 68, n. 142, for further
examples.
132
133
Spartan education not only fails to make boys truly brave by giving
them the inferior courage of beasts; it also makes boys `banausic' (banausouv). This denigration of Spartan training falls in line with a wider
Athenian discourse of stereotyping Spartans as deceitful, a discourse
which I outlined in my rst chapter. But Cambyses' and his ancestors'
strictures and worries about the appropriate location of apate in Persia's system of education are similarly premised (`savage citizens') on
the possibility that an explicit training in deceit, or an excessive emphasis upon its practice, will make young citizens more like animals
than men. However, the Persian system of training in military apate
which Cambyses describes as actually in place (a product of those
138 Arist. Pol. 8.1338b1119, 2.1271b26, 7.1333b1121.
134
135
Xenophon jokes about the Spartan agoge as an uncannily suitable preparation for the military task in hand. But the Spartan has a rejoinder:
I hear on my side that you Athenians are terribly clever at stealing the public
funds, even though it is terribly dangerous for the stealer, and in fact, that your
best people do it most, at least if they really are your best who are deemed
worthy to rule; hence it is time for you also to be displaying your training. (16
17)
140 The homoioi were an elite group of children from the Spartan upper classes. See
Cartledge (1987) 24 who argues that Cyrus' membership of the paideutic group of
homotimoi is reminiscent of this Spartan institution.
136
137
the benet of a friend or fellow citizen is highly debatable and contestable and that the admission of any interpretable licence for deceiving friends can precipitate abusive deceit within one's own community.
As we saw, the Cyropaedia's stated aim was to outline the education
and exploits of a leader who does not abuse his power or his citizens,
who rules in such a way as to elicit the voluntary loyalty of his subjects.
Hence it is unsurprising that Cambyses should reject an education in a
complex and context-dependent moral precept which can so easily be
misinterpreted or misapplied by a ruler. Here Xenophon's Cambyses
can be read as reacting against the relativistic teaching about apate
(`sometimes good, sometimes bad') which can lead to the kind of
abuses of power and community relations which Cheirisophos jokingly
refers to in the context of political relations at Athens. However, he still
cites the teachings of the didaskalos to Cyrus, giving him privileged
access to the notion that friends can or must sometimes be deceived
whilst at the same time making the young prince aware of the dangers
inherent in such a notion.
Another reason for Cambyses' anxiety concerning relativism and
deception must be that he is concerned to teach Cyrus that a leader of
men must have real authority and virtue rather than the mere appearance of such qualities. Prior to the discussion of military trickery,
Cambyses argues that it is better to secure willing obedience from
one's subjects than to force obedience upon them (1.6.21). This willing
obedience is achieved by the leader who seems to be wise because
`people are only too glad to obey the man who they believe takes wiser
thought (jronimwteron) for their interests than they themselves do'.
Cyrus asks how the leader may quickly achieve this appearence of
superior wisdom. His father replies that `there is no shorter road than
really to be wise (to gene sqai . . . jronimon) in those things in which you
wish to appear to be wise' (dokei n jroni mov einai: 1.6.22). He goes on
to outline the disadvantages of pretending to be wise when you are not
really wise:
If you wish to seem to be a good farmer when you are not, or a good rider,
doctor, ute player or anything else that you are not, just think how many
schemes you must invent to keep up your pretensions (e nnoei posa se de oi an
mhcanasqai tou dokei n e neka). And even if you should persuade any number of
people to praise you, in order to give yourself a reputation, and if you should
procure a ne outt (kataskeuav kalav) for each of your professions, you
would soon be found to have practised deception (arti te e xhpathkwv ei hv an)
and not long after, when you were giving an exhibition of your skill, you would
be shown up and convicted, too, as an imposter (e xelhlegme nov an prose ti kai
alazwn jai noio). (Xenophon Cyropaedia 1.6.22)
138
Cambyses clearly believes that the absolute ruler must not be tempted
to use apate to promote his authority among his own citizens because
such ruses will always be unmasked. It has recently been argued that
Xenophon's narrative actually dramatises Cyrus' subsequent rejection
of Cambyses' teaching concerning the use and abuse of deception.143
For example, in book 8 Cyrus arranges for his leaders to wear shoes
which make them seem taller than they actually are and they wear
make-up so that their eyes appear more handsome than they really are
(8.1.41). Such theatrical ruses are described in vocabulary which
sometimes recalls Cambyses' language of military trickery.144 We are
also told that Cyrus wants his leaders to be able to `charm' (katagoeteuein) their subjects. This verb `suggests deception and it identies Cyrus' rulers with the stereotype of the fth- and fourth-century
sorcerer-rhetorician, the gure who charms, deceives and overpowers his
audience through his skill at deploying a cultural language, above all
words'.145 As Too points out, Cyrus' `theatre of power' not only connotes sophistic deception but also specically invokes the emphasis on
extravagant costume, cosmetics and display which so impressed Cyrus
in book 1 when he stayed with his grandfather, Astyages, in Media
(1.3.3). Back then, Cyrus' mother specically warned her son that his
grandfather's realm operated as an absolute tyranny in ways which
contradicted the Persian system of justice (1.3.18). For Too, Cyrus has
ignored his father's teachings and has drawn upon his experiences in
Media instead. This is signalled when Cambyses reappears in book 8 to
warn Cyrus against using his power to take advantage of his subjects
(8.5.24). Ultimately, the rejection of Cambyses' teaching constitutes
`the failure of Cyrus' Persia to live up to the ideal of the pedagogical
state'.146
This reading of the relationship between Cambyses' pedagogy and
Cyrus' subsequent career is attractive and important. It is noteworthy
that in book 7 Cyrus deceives his friends as part of a ruse to allow
himself to limit his exposure to the masses (7.5.3758).147 Alongside
the theatrical deceptions which prioritise appearance at the expense of
reality in dealings with subject-citizens, it does seem that Cyrus the king
moves along precisely those trajectories of deception which Cambyses
143 Too (1998) 293302.
144 See Xen. Cyr. 8.3.1: ton technon . . . ton memechanemenon; 7.5.37: hai technai . . . hai
memechanemenai; Cambyses' words at 1.6.389: ton pros tous polemious mechanematon.
145 Too (1998) 295. On the sophistic and pejorative connotations of goeteia, see below,
pp. 20915.
146 Too (1998) 301.
147 See Gera (1993) 2867.
139
140
appropriates for his `theatre of power'. As Too puts it, `the author's
implication is that Cyrus resorts to the very deceptive devices which
Cambyses insists should only be used against one's enemies and never
against one's own people'.149 But to characterise this misappropriation
as a rejection of, or departure from Cambyses' lesson is to assume that
the lesson itself is clear in terms of what behaviour it (dis)encourages.
On the surface, Cambyses could not be clearer in dis(en)couraging
deception of `one's own people'. But has he really turned his son away
from deceiving friends and citizens through the display of false wisdom? On the one hand, Cambyses teaches that devices which pretend
to wisdom will always be found out. On the other, he argues that success in military trickery is only limited by the creative and inventive
capabilities of the trickster. If Cyrus applies such powers of creativity to
engineer deceit of his own people so successfully that he will not be
found out, then why go to the trouble of being `truly' wise?
Furthermore, there is a pedagogical problem with the `game animal:
human enemy' analogy which Cambyses maintains throughout our
segment of dialogue. In the passage above, Cambyses has to make an
intermediate move from animals to `men', before he can qualify `men'
as the sub-category `enemies'. This opens up the possibility of misapprehension or deliberate misappropriation on the part of Cambyses'
student and on the part of the reader. The huntable enemy can be seen
as `other' to Cyrus in the sense of being an enemy rather than a friend
or fellow-citizen (Cambyses' intended lesson). But Cambyses' analogy
also points to a reading of the huntable animal as `other' only in the
sense that it represents a human individual who is `other' to oneself
(the hunter-trickster), regardless of that individual's status as friend or
foe.
When we place our segment of dialogue within the wider context of
the entire work, then, we discover that Cambyses' anxiety concerning
the right way to teach military trickery is well founded. Cyrus does
not refrain from deceiving philoi and politai. But Cyrus has not simply
ignored Cambyses' teaching out of his love of Median custom or because of his tyrannical nature. Cambyses has done his best to reject
moral relativism concerning deceit of friends and citizens. He has
tried to warn of the dangers of being unmasked as a pretender to false
wisdom. But the requirement to explain, endorse and encourage the
practice of military deception has muddied the waters. A young man
like Cyrus would be quick to understand that if deception is so important and successful for the achievement of pleonexia over enemies,
149 Too (1998) 296.
141
then it will be easy for him to use deception to take advantage of men
already under his rule.
In examining this section of dialogue from the Cyropaedia, I have
attempted to show that Xenophon's work is not simply inscribed with
the notion that military trickery is admissible.150 Through Cambyses,
Xenophon explores the problems that attend a valorisation of `deceiving the enemy' within an organised society. Cambyses interrogates two
models of Greek paideia in apate and nds them potentially destabilising in terms of the morality and behaviour of the individual citizens
they produce. In constructing his own programme, Cambyses institutes a system which expressly veils a positive role for apate among
boys and ephebes. As an adult, Cyrus is to learn what this veiled and
mediated training, a training which carefully prepares for a dierence
in kind beween the polemios who is to be deceived and the philos and
polites who are not. Cambyses himself maintains that dierence by
distancing himself from the notion that a friend can be deceived. In the
Cyropaedia, then, military apate is problematised, not in terms of its
inherent morality, but in terms of the dangers of its misapplication
through a misguided educational programme. Furthermore, Cambyses
can be seen to contribute to Cyrus' misapplication of military trickery
at the very point where he takes apparently clear steps to prevent it.
In this chapter I showed that military apate is not always negatively
termed in Athens' public discourses. I argued that a view of military
apate as a negotiable term was much more helpful than a view of it as
an ambivalent term. Lycurgus' negotiation and assimilation between
the `hoplite ethic' and apate led me to conjecture that Melanthus may
not always have been conceived of as a negative paradigm or a prehoplite in Athens' surface-structure discourses. At the same time,
however, I conceded that a negative view of trickery as opposed to
open combat also persisted in Athenian public discourse and may in
part have been due to a surface-structure association between `deceiving the enemy' and fear of the enemy. In discussing Xenophon, I have
made a case for going beyond this author's many valorisations of military trickery. Even in an author whom we would expect to contradict
the dominant Athenian ideology, we nd an anxiety about promoting
military apate and an (ironically self-defeating?) attempt to work out a
programme whereby such a promotion can be safely patrolled and
150 Contra, for example, the view of Wheeler (1988) 29f. who views Xenophon as a
champion of military apate without any consideration of Cambyses' caveats and
anxieties.
142
143
144
145
146
ascendancy of the citizen phalanx in the new social world of the polis
constitutes what Detienne terms the `laicization of truth'.16 An examination of Homer, Hesiod and archaic poetry leads Detienne to the
conclusion that aletheia is conferred through the authority of the just
king and the divinely inspired poet. But aletheia in the archaic period is
dened in terms of what can and should be remembered. This close association between aletheia and remembering (mnemosune ) means that
the archaic conception of `truth' is primarily opposed, not to notions of
falsehood or deception, but to notions of obscurity, silence and forgetting (lethe ).
For Detienne, archaic aletheia is bound up with a set of semantic
relationships which emphasise what he calls `the ambiguity of speech'.17
Aletheia is involved in an ambiguous relationship with lethe because the
poet's conferral of truth through memory also confers truth's opposite,
namely the forgetting of pain and sorrow among his audience. At the
same time Detienne recognises that archaic poetic aletheia is involved
in an ambiguous relationship with apate and pseude: `le ``Matre de
verite'' est aussi le matre de tromperie'.18 Thus, in the notoriously
dicult couplet of the proem to Hesiod's Theogony, the Muses tell
Hesiod that they know how to tell many lies like true things (yeudea . . .
e tumoisin omoi a), but that when they wish, they also know how to speak
true things (alhqe a).19 Detienne hints that this equation between poetry and `lies like the truth', and the use of the same formula in Homer
and Theognis might approximate a positive notion of apate as `ction'
which was later theorised by the author of the sophistic Dissoi Logoi.20
16
17
18
19
147
148
149
memory. And he is careful to point out that in Parmenides' `rst philosophy', the boundary between aletheia and apate is more permeable
than that found in the Orphic and Pythagorean material.33 He suggests
that this is because Parmenides is a philosopher more concerned with
the radical opposition between `Being' and `Non-Being' rather than
that between aletheia and apate.
Detienne's idea that there is a shift in the denition of the semantic
eld into which aletheia falls, can be criticised on a number of counts.
Firstly, the notion of a radical historical break between a time of myth
and a time of reason can be viewed as too simplistic.34 Secondly, Detienne's concentration on sophistic, rhetorical and philosophic theory
in the early classical period overlooks the question of how democracy's
discourses of oratory and drama approach the problem of what he
identies as `the ambiguity of speech'. If, as Detienne himself hints,
archaic thought recognised deceptive communication to be a problem
for `good exchange' in social and political relations, and given that he is
interested in the `laicization' of discourse, it would seem to be imperative to consider how the privileged `practical discourses' of democracy
approach that problem as well as the `theoretical' texts which he analyses. Sophistic and rhetorical theory subordinate truth to a celebration
of doxa and apate. By contrast, philosophic theory seeks to maintain
truth's priority, sometimes harnessing deceit to achieve that end. How
does public democratic exchange respond to these developments and
negotiate its own particular concern with the threats and opportunities
oered by deceptive communication?
A third problem with Detienne's analysis brings us back to the specic focus of this chapter. It has been argued that there are signicant
examples of Homeric and archaic oppositions between aletheia and
pseude (truth and falsehoods) or between aletheia and apate (truth and
deception).35 It is also apparent that `philosophical' writers of the fth
and fourth centuries do not always maintain a tidy opposition between
aletheia and the concepts of pseudos, apate and peitho. As Detienne himself acknowledges, Parmenides' route to aletheia is also the `path of Per33 See Detienne (1967) 141, (1996) 134: `The philosopher can nd traces of Aletheia at
the heart of the ``deceptive'' world.'
34 See the cautionary comments of Lloyd (1979) 45; DuBois (1991) 767.
35 See Adkins (1972) for a critique of Detienne's argument in relation to the Homeric
evidence. See Pratt (1993) 1722 for argument and examples which clearly show that
Detienne has undervalued the opposition between truth and deception in Homeric
and archaic texts in favour of exclusive concentration on the aletheialethe relation.
Mourelatos (1970) 635 stresses that Homeric aletheia can connote accurate and undistorted reporting and that the archaic period develops its meaning as `genuineness,
authenticity, or reality'.
150
151
152
153
154
are lies `like the truth' about the unknowable past can convey `ethical'
or `religious' truths.43 It is only wrong to tell tales which harm the listener because they encourage him to imitate a weeping Achilles or to
believe that the gods are immoral and selsh. Socrates objects when `a
man in speech makes a bad representation of what gods and heroes are
like' (otan eikazh tiv kakwv tw logw, peri qewn te kai hrwwn oioi eisin:
2.377e12). But such a person should not be blamed for lying per se: he
should be blamed for `not lying well' (e an tiv mh kalwv yeudhtai:
2.377d9).
For Socrates then, the `lie in words' is useful when it is an instance of
`lying well'. And the Myth of Metals is one of those instances it conforms to the general notion that some lies are not `real' or `true' lies
because they bring about morally `true' outcomes. But it also conforms
to some aspects of `ction': stories may be deliberate untruths, but the
right kind of stories can promote the moral health of a community and
they are not to be criticised if the `untruth' of the story conveys a
deeper moral truth which restores or maintains such communal health.
Socrates' endorsement of myths and stories which `lie well' can be
paralleled in other archaic and classical texts which oer metatextual
commentary on the functions and eects of poetry and story-telling.44
I will return to the signicance of such popular assumptions in the
next section. But what interests me here is the way in which Socrates
equates the `Dream' and the `Myth of Metals', not only with a popular
notion of good story-telling as `good lying', but also with uncontroversial examples of lies which are like drugs because they turn friends
away from harm and towards safety in very exceptional and specic
circumstances.45
Before Socrates gets to the `Dream' and `the Myth of Metals', his
conception of `good lies' as `pharmacological' is put forward to show
that Kallipolis' philosopher-rulers must be allowed to lie to the rest
of its citizens while those citizens must never lie to the rulers. Having
ruled out the poetic representation of the gods grieving or laughing as
unsuitable for the youth of Kallipolis, Socrates stresses that the young
must be taught to take the truth seriously. He concedes that lies can be
`useful as a form of remedy' (crhsimon wv e n jarmakou ei dei: 3.389b4).
But this means that such lies `must be assigned to doctors while private
43 See Murray (1996) 1512 on Resp. 2.382d2.
44 See Belore (1985); Pratt (1993) 13156; Gill (1993) 6687; Murray (1996) 1513.
45 Murray (1996) 1501 on Resp. 2.382c67 rightly points out that `Socrates's justication of lying in certain circumstances is not as radical as has sometimes been
supposed.'
155
men (idiotais) must not put their hands to it' (3.389b5). His interlocutor, Adeimantus, agrees and Socrates then concludes that it is tting
for the rulers (archontes) of Kallipolis to lie `for the benet of city in
cases involving enemies or citizens' (3.389b89). For the private citizen to lie to the rulers is `a fault the same as, or greater than, for a sick
man or a man in training not to tell the truth to the doctor or the
trainer or for a man not to say to the pilot the things that are concerning the ship and the sailors, lying about how he himself or his fellow
sailors are faring' (3.389c16).
Thus Socrates' argument moves from `the lie in words' told to children or friends to the wholesale deception of his ideal citizens through
a myth of origins and an asymmetrical licence aorded to rulers to lie
to the ruled. Citizens, however, are forbidden to lie to their rulers because such deceptions will hamper the rulers' ability to do their job
properly. Indeed, the point at which this licence and prohibition are
introduced is also the rst appearance of a distinct group of `rulers' in
the Republic: `lying is not some merely incidental topic grafted onto
a consideration of the obligations of good government; the need for
political rule and the need for the drug of deceit emerge at the same
time'.46 For Popper, this convergence of needs constitutes the core of
the Republic's totalitarian vision. But Plato's pharmacological analogy
has been used to defend him from Popper's charges of totalitarianism.
Critics of Popper have argued that Plato does not conceive of the rulers'
lies or (rigorously censored) paideutic lies as a means of limiting individual freedom.47 They are designed simply to help every individual to
realise their best interests and to identify those interests with their
correct role within the structure of the ideal state. Children particularly
need help with such self-realisations and so may adults if their psychological make-up is found to be imperfect.48
The extent to which such defences are credible depends on our own
denition of the nature and possibilities of human freedom, not to
mention our own conception of human nature itself. Furthermore,
these defences seem to be predicated on the assumption that political
theory can arrive at a dention of what will make an objectively good
46 Page (1991) 18.
47 See Page (1991) 20: `. . . there are some choices, according to Socrates that are more
profoundly in error because they directly compromise the most basic responsibilities of
human, political life. They are choices that can confound the realization of full human
freedom itself. To ignore completely the goods of the city is not eccentric, but pathological, and if lying can help correct the radical subversion of the city's goods (which
are still human goods), then it cannot be good to dismiss lying out of hand.'
48 See Page (1991) 10; Reeve (1988) 212.
156
and just community. Socrates does not make this claim exactly but he
seems to believe that his blueprint for Kallipolis will provide the conditions through which such a community might be achieved. If ocial
`noble lies' are necessary to maintain such conditions, then we can
either agree that such lies are necessary because Kallipolis is desirable
and workable or we can disagree on the basis that such lies will maintain a community that is not desirable, and could never become
objectively `good' or `just'. The idea that an objectively `just' community is conceivable or achievable is doubtful in so many ways. And it is
far from clear how the Republic can be seen to promote individual
freedom through its discussion of pharmacological lying, if we regard
such freedom as crucially dependent on access to certain truths: the
real circumstances of our birth and upbringing, the actual structures
that regulate our political or social lives, the content of those stories we
were not told when we were children. However, the so-called `authoritarianism' implied by the Republic's discussion of lying is not radically
dierent to certain educational assumptions and political practices
exhibited in the so-called `free' societies of the twentieth century.
Democratic governments have undoubtedly lied to their people for
supposedly `noble' ends and it is questionable whether any civil society
could maintain itself without its government withholding or fabricating
information in certain circumstances. Plato's `noble lie' thus provokes
dicult, interesting and fundamental questions for political and ethical
theory. But these questions are not my concern here. Instead, I want to
concentrate on two features of the Republic's treatment of lying which
serve to locate the notion of `the noble lie' within the specic context of
Athenian culture and thought.
Firstly, Socrates' vision of a state which maintains its structure
through the promulgation of a `noble lie' and licenses strategic deceptions on the part of its rulers is rooted in the claim that `pharmacological' lying is part and parcel of everyone's lives: everybody knows
that certain special situations make lying a necessity in order to secure
just and benecial outcomes. In the case of story-telling, people may
be mistaken if they think that the poets tell good lies, but Socrates'
belief is clearly that story-telling should amount to another everyday
example of positive pharmacological lying. Socrates does not make it
clear whether the requirement that nobody can lie to the rulers precludes other citizens from lying pharmacologically to each other. Socrates may have departed from his initial representation of `the lie in
words' as something which everybody can and must occasionally deploy. But there can be little doubt that each time Socrates makes a case
for lies which will benet the polis as a whole, he always takes the in-
157
158
159
connotations were widely known. The manner in which Plato's Socrates characterises the gennaion pseudos in the Republic can be seen as an
attempt to explain ocial deceit in terms which side-step anti-Spartan
prejudices in the dialogue's Athenian audience. Paternalistic lying
on the part of Kallipolis' rulers and Socrates himself is represented,
not as a systematic `Spartan-style' policy of state control but as an
`occasional' pharmakon which must be administered in specic circumstances where the health and unity of the community would otherwise
be in jeopardy. Pharmacological lies are appropriate in education, in
the creation of a foundation-myth and in the maintenance of the division of the three classes. In addition, the rulers are at liberty to lie to
the ruled whenever such lies will maintain the health of the state. These
ocial lies are all built on the simple moral foundation that it is just
and proper to save your friends from harm by lying to them when there
is no other way to achieve that end. Thus the Republic is able to explain
or justify ocial lies in terms which would either distance them from
perceived Spartan practices or at least persuade the reader that they
are simply a wider application of a `common-sense' view that lies can
sometimes be useful. This is not to claim that the discussions of
everyday pharmacological deception are somehow `tacked-on': the Republic integrates its specic analysis of the nature and role of lying with
its moral, political and epistemological vision.59 But by starting with
everyday cases where `paternalistic' lying makes sense, Plato attempts
to `naturalise' his representation of the `lie in words' as a form of social
interaction which is acceptable in any polis, rather than as the hallmark
of an undemocratic city such as Sparta.60
My point here, which will be developed throughout this chapter, is
that the `noble lie' (in the Republic and in Athenian texts in general)
cannot be characterised simply as a `totalitarian' ploy. Crucially, Socrates legitimises its use by arguing that good lies are part of the fabric of
contemporary social life and that legitimation is reinforced through
agreement with interlocutors in dialogue. Where Adeimantus expresses shock and highlights Socrates' shame and hesitancy concerning
the `Myth of Metals', the dialogue carefully enhances this process of
legitimation. The transformation of `common-sense' deceit into state
propaganda is acknowledged and marked as problematic at the same
time as it is deemed to be necessary.
The second point I wish to make concerning Plato's `noble lie' is
59 As Page (1991) and Reeve (1988) demonstrate.
60 On `naturalisation' as a ruse of ideology see Eagleton (1991) 5961. The classic
account of `naturalising' strategy is Barthes (1972) 125.
160
161
The tale of the teeth that were sown, and how the armed men sprang out of
them. Here, indeed, the law-giver has a notable example of how one can, if he
tries, persuade the souls of the young ( peithein tas ton neon psuchas) of anything,
so that the only question he has to consider in his inventing is what would do
most good to the polis, if it were believed; and then he must devise all possible
means to ensure that the whole of the community constantly, so long as they
live, use exactly the same language, so far as possible, about these matters, alike
in their songs, their tales (muthois), and their speeches (logois). (Plato Laws
2.663e9664a8)
162
163
70 On the charge of false witnessing (dike pseudomarturion) see Harrison (1971) 1928;
Todd (1993) 2612. Andoc. 1.74 indicates that three convictions for false witnessing
could mean the loss of citizen rights. For legal sanctions against deceit in the agora see
MacDowell (1978) 157 and [Arist.] Ath. Pol. 51.1; Dem. 20.9; Hyp. 3.14.
71 For the details of the charges and the political background to the case, see Vince and
Vince (1926) 23242; Harris (1995) 63123. On the complexity of Athenian diplomacy
at this time see the essays in Perlman (1973).
72 Aeschines' formulation in his defence speech is slightly dierent. At Aeschin. 2.178, he
complains that he is being called to account for erga when he only had logoi under his
control and that he is the only one of ten ambassadors to be called to account in this
manner.
164
stating that if Aeschines has deliberately deceived the people for money
as an ambassador, then the jury must not listen to the suggestion that
he should not stand trial for the things he said. With heavy sarcasm,
Demosthenes poses a question: `for what are we to bring any ambassador to justice if not for his words?' (183). He then points out that
ambassadors are given control, not over triremes, military positions,
hoplites or citadels, but `words and opportunities' (alla logwn kai
cronwn). It is wrong for an ambassador to waste opportunities for the
state, but the implications of giving false reports to the demos are represented as more profoundly damaging:
touv de logouv ei me n alhqei v aphggelken h sumje rontav, apojeuge tw, ei de kai
yeudei v kai misqou kai asumjorouv, aliske sqw. oude n gar e sq' o ti mei zon an umav
adikhseie tiv, h yeudh le gwn. oiv gar e st' e n logoiv h politei a, pwv, an outoi mh
alhqei v wsin, asjalwv e sti politeuesqai;
If the words of his reports are true and protable words, let him be acquitted. If
they are false, venal and damaging, let him be convicted. A man can do you no
greater injustice than telling lies; for, where the political constitution is based
on speeches/words, how can it be safely administered if the words/speeches are
false? (Demosthenes 19.1835)
165
166
These and other topoi in the extant corpus of Athenian oratory represent the key areas of concern in a continuing process of ideological
negotiation between the demos and those who had the leisure, wealth
and ability to become its advisers. Over time elite speakers `helped to
create a vocabulary of social mediation which dened the nature of
mass-elite interaction for the Athenians and legitimated both the power
of the masses and the special privileges of the elites'.81
So, when Demosthenes says that telling lies to the demos is a singular crime in the passage cited above, he rehearses a topos. But Demosthenes moves beyond this standard topos, by explaining that deceit
is peculiarly unacceptable in a democratic system because that system is
`logocentric'.82 He also goes on to make a further point about deception in democracy by claiming that `the lching of opportunities'
for debate in the polis through false reports is a worse crime in a democracy than it would be in an oligarchy or a tyranny (185). In these
undemocratic systems everything is done promptly by command, while
in the case of democracy the Boule must be informed and a draft resolution must be drawn up. Then the ecclesia must be convened on a
statutory date so that a debate can take place and, after further time
for dialogue and consideration a decision can be reached (1856).
Here, Demosthenes foregrounds deceptive communication as a
threat to a central tenet of Athenian democratic ideology, namely the
valorisation of forethought, discussion and debate prior to action.
This tenet is neatly expressed in the Thucydidean Funeral Speech of
Pericles:
81 Ober (1989) 306.
82 In Derridean terms, democracy is represented here as `logocentric'/`phonocentric'
(reliant on speech and what Derrida would see as a myth of speech's `self-presence')
and as vulnerable to phenomena of speech (deceit is a radical symptom of speech's lack
of `self-presence') which `logocentric'/`phonocentric' prejudices usually suppress and
attribute to writing. See, especially, Derrida (1981) and Norris (1987) 2896. However,
in line with Derrida (1981) and its famous analysis of Plato's Phaedrus, the tendency of
democratic oratory to attribute deceit of the demos to the workings of the sophist and
the logographer can be seen as a mark of the encroachment of `logocentric' prejudice
in democratic discourse against writing as a phenomenon which contaminates `selfpresent' spoken communication. Derrida's view that the Phaedrus' distinction between
`good speech' and `bad writing' is self-undermining is criticised by Ferrari (1987) 214
22 who points out that Socrates attempts to map out a distinction between `good' and
`bad' writing. See Halperin (1992) for application of Derridean insights to Plato's
Symposium. Sometimes, orators and characters in civic drama praise writing as an aidememoire and a guarantee of isonomia through the visibility and permanency of inscribed
laws. See Thomas (1989) 21, n. 22, and 612 with n. 151. Derrida would perhaps point
to the ways in which these eulogies assume that such writing is self-present or `like'
speech.
167
168
(38.24). Cleon's opponent Diodotus replies that this is itself a deceptive argument; Cleon is attacking the wisdom of careful deliberation and manufacturing suspicion against those who want to re-open
discussion of Mytilene's fate because further debate may result in a
decision which he opposes (42.26). Diodotus claims that the climate
of suspicion which people like Cleon encourage actually forces good
advisers to use apate in order to re-establish their credibility (43.24).
Diodotus' statement that orators have to use apate to avert the suspicion created by other speakers is unique, but his argument that good
advice is hindered by an atmosphere of suspicion is closely paralleled
in one of a collection of mostly deliberative preambles which is usually
attributed to Demosthenes.87 Thucydides seems here to articulate a
peculiar problem which democracy faces in relation to apate and it is a
problem which provides an important frame for Demosthenes' comments about the `logocentricity' of the Athenian legal and political
system. The rhetor can, as Demosthenes and Diodotus claim, destroy
the demos' control over its own aairs by deceiving them in such a way
as to deny them the opportunity to debate important issues. But by
emphasising democracy's dependence on logoi, Demosthenes also follows Cleon's point that conduct of free debate is no guarantee against
the threat of deceptive communication. We will see in my nal chapter
that Diodotus adds a further twist by highlighting the possibility that an
opponent's invective against the threat of deceptive communication to
democracy is itself an insincere strategy to discredit the character and
motives of his opponent. And we will see that even Diodotus' remarks
invite the reader to reect on the sincerity and motives of his own
rhetoric.
Thucydides' account of the exchange between Diodotus and Cleon
foregrounds the diculty of determining a `bottom line' democratic
ideological attitude towards deception in the lawcourts or assembly.
As the orator pronounces on the dangers of the opponent who will
hoodwink the demos he is always attempting to impugn the sincerity
of his opponent and he does so by marking that insincerity as antidemocratic or symptomatic of democracy's malaise. While Dem87 Dem. Pr. 37 in the text of Clavaud (1974). On the questionable authenticity of the
Demosthenic collection of preambles see Clavaud (1974) 555; Yunis (1996) 2879.
Even if Clavaud and Yunis' arguments for Demosthenic authorship are wishful thinking, I know of no arguments to suggest that this collection is not a genuine fourthcentury product. Yunis (1996) 288, n. 4 provides late evidence from the Suda, Athenaeus and Hermogenes that Antiphon, Thrasymachus and Critias wrote collections of
preambles. Cratinus PCG fr. 197 parodies a judicial preamble; Xen. Mem. 4.2.35
parodies a deliberative preamble. These parodies suggest to Yunis `a general awareness of diction that was standard to preambles well before Demosthenes' time' (288).
169
170
Our desire to secure our position by such a reference [to the ecclesia] they call
nervousness, since no one, they argue, has ever saved the Athenian people by
open persuasion (oudei v pwpote ton dhmon ton Aqhnai wn e k tou janerou pei sav
e swsen). Rather, it is necessary to benet them through concealment or deception. This is an argument I do not support. (alla dei laqontav h e xapathsantav auton eu poihsai. Ton logon oun touton ouk e painw.) (Andocides
3.33)
171
apate.91 At other moments peitho slips out of this position and becomes
virtually synonymous with trickery or deceit.92 Gorgias' Encomium of
Helen also seems to blur the distinction between logos as peitho and as
apate, probably because the author is concerned with the power of
language to seduce and charm the listener like a drug ( pharmakon).93
But Andocides' opposition between peitho and apate falls in line with
the eulogy found in Lysias' funeral oration, where `to persuade by
argument' (logw . . . pei sai) is valorised as the hallmark of civilisation
and democracy (2.1819).94
One can only speculate as to whether the ambiguous representation
of peitho in drama or sophistic exegesis would have made an audience
sceptical of Andocides' claims for peitho as a democratic notion which
could and should be kept distinct from notions of deceit. But Andocides could have made his point by praising peitho and deliberation
without any reference to the concept of justiable deceit. So why does
he bother to invoke the concept at all? He clearly believed that ideological mileage could be gained from dismissing the concept of the
`noble lie'. After Popper, it is apparent that the `noble lie' can easily be
associated with `the closed society', but would it have had the same
connotations for the Athenian citizenry?
I have already argued that `ocial deception' would have been
closely associated with the practices of Spartan oligarchy. When Andocides condemns those who argue that the Athenian demos can only
be saved or beneted if it is misled, he does so primarily because he is
attempting to persuade an Athenian audience to make peace with
Sparta. By dismissing a notion which that audience would associate
with the practices of Spartan oligarchy and the beliefs of laconisers, he
is attempting to neutralise the suspicion that he is acting as an agent of
an undemocratic enemy state in order to secure a peace treaty which
serves that state's interests more than those of Athens.95 Again, the
91 See Soph. Phil. 50120, where Odysseus and Neoptolemus discuss how to win over
Philoctetes in terms of a choice between peitho, bia, or apate/dolos. See Buxton (1982)
65 and 11832 and my analysis below pp. 1939.
92 See Aesch. Cho. 726 where the chorus invoke Peitho dolia (treacherous/tricky Persuasion) to help Orestes in the murder of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra. See also Buxton
(1982) 65 and 109. See Ar. Pax 622 and Vesp. 101 where compounds of peitho describe
the eects of deception and bribery respectively.
93 Gorg. Hel. 814 ( DK 82 b11.814). See Verdenius (1981); Segal (1962); Rothwell
(1990) 27.
94 For the equation between peitho and civilised human society see also Isoc. 15.254 and
4.48. At 15.2306, Isocrates claims that Solon, Cleisthenes, Themistocles and Pericles
all relied on their powers of eloquence and persuasion. See Buxton (1982) 545.
95 Missiou (1992) argues that Andocides' speech follows a pro-Spartan agenda. If this is
the case then Andocides' rejection of `noble lies' is an attempt to mask that agenda.
172
173
were dierent in the past, Athens did honour its chrestoi. Demosthenes
concludes his attack on his opponents' argument from historical precedent in the following manner:
Is it just then, Athenians, to honour your benefactors? It is just. Then, to observe your oaths, act on that principle yourselves; resent the imputation that
your ancestors acted otherwise; and as for those who cite such instances,
alleging that your ancestors rewarded no man for great benets received, look
upon them as villains ( ponerous) and uneducated (apaideutous). They are villains because they falsely charge your ancestors with ingratitude. But they are
unlearned (amatheis) because they do not see that even if the charge was completely proven, it would be more appropriate for them to deny it rather than to
say it (ei ta malista tauq' outwv eicen, arnei sqai mallon h le gein autoi v
proshken). (Demosthenes 20.119)
Leptines and his followers have lied about the jury's ancestors. But
even if it were true that the demos of the fth-century Athens did not
reward and honour benefactors, it would have been `appropriate'
(proshken) to deny this fact rather than proclaim it. Eectively,
Demosthenes is arguing that it would be better to lie than tell an
unpalatable truth about Athens' past failings in collective reciprocity if
such failings proved to be a reality. Indeed, to tell the truth in this case
would be to betray ignorance and a lack of education (hence apaideutouv and amaqei v). He does not actually say `it would have been more
appropriate to lie', but he makes it clear that a `denial of the facts'
would be tting. The phrasing is reminiscent of the euphemisms and
semantic acrobatics recently deployed by British ministers and senior
ocials when confronted with overwhelming evidence that they have
told lies.99 But Demosthenes is prepared to claim, on this issue, that it
would be appropriate to mislead the demos or conceal the truth from
them.
The fact that this is the only instance I can nd of such an admission
in extant oratory is not surprising. It is almost unheard of for a modern
99 E.g. the notorious exchange between lawyer Malcolm Turnbull and the British Cabinet Secretary Sir Robert Armstrong in the `Spycatcher trial' on 18 November 1986.
See Kerr (1990) 495510 for the relevant extract of trial transcripts taken from M.
Turnbull (1988) The Spycatcher Trial, London. Under questioning Armstrong claimed
that he had never lied for what he perceived to be reasons of national security. When
Turnbull presented a letter as strong evidence that he had lied for such reasons, a long
semantic tussle ensued. Armstrong said the letter contained a `misleading impression'
but `not a lie'. When asked what the dierence was, Armstrong said a lie was a `straight
untruth' whereas a `misleading impression' was `perhaps being economical with the
truth' (503). See also The Guardian 2 February (1990) 7: `Mr David Treddinick (C.
Bosworth) said that given 300 terrorist murders the army was absolutely justied in
using disinformation. Mr Seamus Mallon (SDLP. Newry and Armagh) said disinformation was a euphemism for lying.'
174
175
176
177
not primarily concerned here with archaic representations and evaluations of `ction' but they will have a bearing on my discussion because
classical texts are often explicitly or implicitly informed by them.108
Furthermore, because Athenian cultural paideia included frequent and
`democratic' exposure to Homer and lyric poetry, their representation
of `ction' must have informed popular thinking in the fth and fourth
centuries.109 With regard to classical texts which address the issue of
poetry as disseminating falsehoods, there is clearly a measure of consensus. Critics disagree as to whether the classical mind-set ever admits
a notion which we would describe as `ction'. But they all seem to accept that fth- and fourth-century writers do not have a problem with
`poetic' or `mythological' lies qua lies.
It has recently been argued that classical, (and some would claim,
archaic) texts do not criticise certain stories on the grounds that they
are intentionally or unintentionally false. Rather, the criticism arises
when narratives are deemed to be ethically false. Thus Socrates seems
to suggest that the poets' representations of the gods are false in that
they do not correspond to his notion that the divine is ethically perfect
and unequivocally good.110 But he argues that even if some stories were
true, they should not be told because of their bad psychological eect
on an audience, especially a young one. Gill argues that `Plato regards
lying as less ethically worrying than ``falsehood in the psyche'' or ethical ignorance.'111 With respect to poetics in particular Gill argues that
Plato's discussions `seem to develop, and to give a theoretical framework for, a well established practice of understanding poetry in terms
of the truth or falsehood of its ethical content'.112 Gill appeals to evi108 See Belore (1985), who argues that Plato's Republic polemically engages with the
infamous line of the Hesiodic Muses where they claim that they sometimes speak
pseude etumoisin homoia (Hes. Theog. 27). Her article demonstrates how archaic representations of lies and falsehood can illuminate classical representations and viceversa. This is not to say that classical texts simply borrow, copy or are `inuenced by'
earlier representations as if the new context of the Athenian democracy and the development of dramatic and prose discourses could leave archaic models of truth
unaected. See Goldhill (1988a) 138. for a useful discussion of the workings of
`intertextuality' between Attic tragedy and earlier writings. See also Kristeva (1980)
for an inuential model of intertextuality, a model which can be fruitfully applied to
the problem of classical texts' engagement with Homeric and archaic writing.
109 For the Great Panatheneia as the occasion where the Athenian citizenry listened to
performances of Homer, see Lyc. 1.102. For further discussion and evidence see
Parke (1977) 34; Hurwit (1985) 2624; Goldhill (1991) 16773. As Goldhill points
out there were, by the fth century plenty of other opportunities for citizens to hear
Homer. Cf. Xen. Symp. 3.56. It seems clear from Aristophanes' Clouds that recitation of lyric poetry (including Pindar) and tragedy was regular after-dinner practice in
the household of the Attic zeugite.
110 Pl. Resp. 377e. See Page (1991) 812.
111 Gill (1993) 55.
112 Gill (1993) 73 (my italics).
178
dence in other fth- and fourth-century writers to support his view that
classical Athenian culture is not concerned that poetic or mythic narratives may be factually false. Pratt also conceives of classical writers as
adhering to a distinction between ethical truth and falsehood. For her,
Pindar, Stesichorus, Xenophanes, Herodotus, Thucydides and Plato
all condemn poets and other story-tellers for `lying not well' rather
than for lying per se:
That poets lie seems a truism of the culture. But it is possible for poets to lie
either well or badly. These critiques are directed not at any and all forms of
misrepresentation and invention, but only at those inventions that seem to the
critic to promote harmful messages. Frequently the critic seems implicitly to
accept that ctions ( pseudea) may have positive functions as well. These critiques thus represent early attempts to come to terms with the strange and
complex mix of true and false in ction.113
179
view that some lies about Athens are so useful ideologically that
they should not be exposed. We cannot know how far Demosthenes'
reasoning here was sharpened by Platonic reections on the political
and educational value of lying well to your citizenry. But it is striking
that by invoking notions of education and learning (in my view, the
meta-poetic tradition), Demosthenes endorses a version of the `noble
lie'.
Gill and Pratt have correctly identied an important strand of
thought. But there is material which questions the persistent notion
they have identied. In my next section, I want to analyse in detail a
fragment of drama which, in my view, explicitly interrogates the idea
that it is unproblematic to assess a referential lie in terms of its social and
ethical utility, `goodness' or appropriateness. The fragment explores
the wisdom of even publicly singling out an item of traditional narrative discourse as a lie that is nevertheless socially or ethically benecial.
Athenian drama makes it clear that (publicly proclaimed and performed) recognitions of poetic, mythological and `pharmacological'
lies become implicated in broader questions concerning theology, theodicy, justice and the distinction between nomos (law, convention) and
phusis (nature) which arose during the fth-century enlightenment in
Athens.
Fiction problematised: religion as `noble lie' in the
Sisyphus
In his scathing attack on Plato's political philosophy Karl Popper cites
what he regards as a signicant precursor to the `noble lie' of the Republic. The text he invokes is a fragment of the Sisyphus, a Satyr play of
disputed authorship.114 Popper suppresses the context of the piece and
his assimilation of its content to the Platonic `noble lie' is and I hope
this will become apparent in my discussion completely awed. But in
a general sense the two texts do merit comparison and juxtaposition
precisely because they both deploy the notion of an ethically and socially benecial lie. Sextus quotes the whole extant fragment of the
Sisyphus and attributes it to Critias, whom he describes as `one of those
114 Popper (1966) 1405. He attributes the Sisyphus fragment to Plato's uncle Critias who
was a leading member of the oligarchic regime which overthrew the democracy in
404. Popper fails to address the problem of the fragment's disputed authorship and its
`dramatic' context issues which I refer to below. For strong `internal' arguments for
the fragment being from a satyr play see Dihle (1977) 37; Sutton (1981) 36; Davies
(1989) 29.
180
10
15
20
25
115 Sext. Adv. Math. 9.54: `And Critias, one of the tyrants at Athens, seems to belong to
the company of atheists when he says that the ancient law-givers invented god as a
kind of overseer of the right and wrong actions of men, in order to make sure that
nobody injured his neighbours secretly through fear of vengeance at the hands of the
gods' (kai Kriti av de eiv twn e n Aqhnaiv turannhsantwn dokei e k tou tagmatov twn
aqe wn uparcein jamenov, oti oi palaioi nomoqe tai e pi skopon tina twn anqrwpi nwn
katorqwmatwn kai amarthmatwn e plasan ton qeon upe r tou mhde na laqra ton
plhsi on adikei n, eulaboumenon thn upo twn qewn timwri an. e cei de par' autw to rhton
outwv).
116 Aet. Plac. 1.6.7, 7.2. There are some minor dierences between the two versions.
117 Diggle (1998) reads kudiston for hediston. This would mean something like `most
glorious of lessons'.
30
35
40
181
182
183
184
The connection of poetry and religion was explicit. The speech thus becomes a
piece of self-mockery by the poet: he too is among the deceivers.135
185
186
The chorus do not doubt the existence of Zeus but they are sceptical
that he intervened directly. Nevertheless, they argue that such a tale
can be protable for mortals and Clytemnestra should have listened to
such stories.144 It is clear that Xenophanes, Democritus and Prodicus
viewed the Greek pantheon and its mythology as fabrications, though
they seem to dier on the intentionality behind them. An elegiac fragment of Xenophanes implies that certain tales of the exploits of the
traditional gods are socially useful and benecial, whilst others are
ethically pernicious and inappropriate (DK 21 b1).145
If we set this evidence against Sisyphus' description of the sophos aner
and his `noble lie' we can see that a similar assumption about theistic
logoi is at work. The phrase `and using them he established the divinity
well via discourse and in an appropriate place' (kalwv te tw logw
katwkisen ton dai mon(a) outov kan pre ponti cwri w: 389) appeals to
the ideas of ethical good, persuasive ecacy and appropriateness which
Pratt and Gill nd in archaic and classical texts' characterisations of
mythological story-telling.146 Sisyphus apes the assumptions about
good lying which we nd in (among others) Xenophanes, Plato and the
chorus in Euripides' Electra. But the context of his words and the manner in which he deploys the notion of a noble lie constitute a disturbing
interrogation of the very assumptions which Gill and Pratt regard as so
144 See Yunis (1988b) 989. Here, I follow the interpretation of Cropp (1988) 152 on El.
745 rather than Stinton (1976) 88, n. 53. Stinton argues that wn refers to the `gods'
rather than `such stories' about the gods because it is perverse for the chorus to attack
Clytemnestra for forgetting tales which are probably untrue. But this does not seem to
follow so well from the chorus' mention of the value of muthoi and as Cropp points
out, they are recommending `fearful, piety-inducing tales in general '.
145 On this see Pratt (1993) 13640.
146 I am not implying that pre ponti cwri w denotes the appropriate nature of the entire
lie. Rather it suggests the appropriateness of saying that the gods live in a place which
mortals associate with frightening meteorological phenomena. I thank Dr Andrew
Ford for this point. However, the kalwv te tw logw katwkisen ton dai mon(a) outov
does suggest appropriate, eective and ethically sound qualities.
187
188
189
octetes.148 This tragedy was performed at the City Dionysia in 409 bc.
This secure dating means that Philoctetes has been heavily `contextualised' by critics: it responds, in one way or another, to the contemporary intellectual milieu of sophistic teaching, display and inquiry.149
It conveys a crisis of moral, military and political values which mark it
as speaking to an Athenian audience who had experienced oligarchic
revolution in 411 and who were still recovering from reverses in the war
with Sparta.150 Its three main characters have all been read (with different levels of sophistication and plausibility) as ciphers for Alcibiades, a political `problem child' for Athenians who had been recalled
in 411.151 Philoctetes concerns the return of an exiled hero who will save
his former comrades and this has been regarded as allegorical for
Alcibiades' return.152 Neoptolemus' youth and ambition and Odysseus'
ruthless cunning have also been related to Alcibiades' portrayal in fthand fourth-century historiography. Odysseus' emphasis on trickery and
ultimate victory for his enterprise has reminded critics, not only of
Alcibiades or a general `sophistic' approach to morality but also of an
entire class of post-Periclean politicians with disreputable qualities.153
The play has also been seen to be informed by Athenian civic and
religious institutions. Neoptolemus is of ephebic age and persuaded by
Odysseus to use dolos and apate on Philoctetes. The action takes place
in the `liminal' space of the wild island of Lemnos. These factors have
led Vidal-Naquet to read the play as an ephebic narrative.154 Goldhill
stresses that Philoctetes' extreme heroism, Neoptolemus' dilemma of
loyalties and the play's abrupt `solution' problematise the ideological
force of the hoplite oath and the opening ceremonies of the City
Dionysia.155
148 See Blundell (1989) 184: `Philoctetes is the most ethically complex of all Sophocles'
plays.'
149 For Philoctetes as a `thinking through' of sophistic anthropology in relation to notions
of aristocratic birth and inherited excellence, see Rose (1992) 266330. For the play's
engagement with the sophistic interest in language and rhetoric, see Craik (1980);
Goldhill (1997) 1415. See also Nestle (1910); Knox (1964) 164.
150 See Thuc. 8.47, 812.
151 See Bowie (1997) 5661 for the most convincing arguments in favour of an `Alcibidean' reading. Bowie argues that Philoctetes, Odysseus and Neoptolemus all display
dierent characteristics of Alcibiades as recorded by the historians. See also Jameson
(1956); Calder (1971); Craik (1980); Vickers (1987).
152 See Jebb (1898) xliixliii; Webster (1970) 7; Bowie (1997) 56.
153 See Jameson (1956) 219 who cites a scholion (S Phil. 99) in support of his view that
Odysseus' viewpoint conjures up the ruthless reputation of gures such as Cleon,
Alcibiades, Antiphon, Peisander and Theramenes.
154 Vidal-Naquet (1988). For critique of the `ephebic' reading see Di Benedetto (1978);
Winnington-Ingram (1979); Goldhill (1990).
155 Goldhill (1990).
190
191
`safety' (soteria) for the Greek army ranged against Troy.161 How far
does the play make this justication plausible and understandable
for an audience? Does Odysseus' argument that Philoctetes must be
deceived to achieve a greater good have any moral force for a fthcentury audience? Let us look, rst of all at the reasons Odysseus gives
for treating Philoctetes' own views and wishes with contempt. At the
opening of the play Odysseus explains to Neoptolemus that Philoctetes' foul and incurable wound made it impossible to keep him on
the expedition to Troy:
This is the place where, many years ago,
Neoptolemus son of Achilles
Your father was the best among the Greeks
Acting on the orders of our overlords,
I left Philoctetes the Malian, Poeas' son,
Lamed by a festering disease in his foot,
At which he would moan and howl incessantly
Our camp was never free of his frantic wailing
Never a moment's pause for libation or prayer,
But the silence was desecrated by his savage cries.
192
193
the persuasion which is required by the prophecy is actually an indication of Odysseus' awed character: he is so concerned to achieve an
end, regardless of the means deployed, that he focuses on getting the
bow to Troy and the question of whether Philoctetes accompanies the
bow or not becomes subordinate to that focus.166 This makes sense if
we regard Odysseus as a character who is cunning but not wise. Neoptolemus will make a similar charge against him when his sympathy for
Philoctetes gets the better of him: `Wise (sophos) as you are, you do not
say what is wise (sophon)' (1244). But if Odysseus knows the same
prediction as that presented by Neoptolemus, then how could he not
understand that his mission is to secure Philoctetes' willing return with
the bow? It may be that Odysseus believes that it is enough to have
Philoctetes persuaded by a false promise to take him home. This would
be a characteristically sophistic interpretation of the prophecy's requirement that Philoctetes' return to Troy be voluntary: through the
deception, he will be `willing' to get on the boat and that is enough to
full the prophecy. Perhaps he believes that Philoctetes can be persuaded once he is dumped back at Troy. Philoctetes may be happy to
shoot Odysseus or the Atreidae rather than be persuaded or forced by
them, but will he be so impervious to the persuasion of heroes like
Nestor for whom he retains admiration (4212)?
These speculations should be resisted, however, for they take us
away from the evidence for a denitive account of the prophecy or
Odysseus' thinking as presented in the text. Most scholars argue that
the information contained in the prophecy is unclear throughout the
play and that this obscurity suits the requirements of character, action
and plot. When Odysseus arrives on Lemnos, he fails to make it clear
that both Philoctetes and Neoptolemus are required to wield the bow at
Troy. Neither Neoptolemus nor Odysseus address the requirement
that Philoctetes return willingly. It could be that Neoptolemus does
not realise that Philoctetes' voluntary return is required until he hears
the messenger's version of the prophecy at 610. If this is the case, then
Odysseus perhaps omits Philoctetes' essential role because he has to
win Neoptolemus around to his plan with the promise that the hero
will win glory for the enterprise (11520). Neoptolemus' Achillean
phusis might make him unwilling to execute the plan if glory has to be
shared.167 But it is more likely that Odysseus sidelines the need to persuade Philoctetes because such persuasion is an impossibility. Odysseus knows that Philoctetes' resentment towards him and the Greek
166 Linforth (1956); Nussbaum (1976) 35; Gill (1980) 140; Segal (1995) 102.
167 This is the explanantion of Hinds (1967) 179.
194
195
196
The rst line of this response is fraught with textual problems and difculties of interpretation.174 And it is far from clear whether the person
171
172
173
174
197
198
199
tion of Poseidon. And this curse condemns Odysseus to the same cavedwelling existence that Philoctetes has suered. Odysseus is `seeing his
own future'.180 Odysseus' predicament with the Cyclops in Odyssey 9
has come about because he failed to heed the advice of his crew. His
use of deception against Achilles in the embassy of Iliad 9 is similarly
involved in failure. Achilles is not persuaded. In the Philoctetes, Odysseus gets the result he wants, but Philoctetes returns with his bow to
Troy at the behest of the divine Heracles rather than through the
trickster's schemes. The play's intertextual relationship with Odyssean
trickery in Homer suggests that the ruse against Philoctetes is far from
wise or laudable. But the late fth- and fourth-century discourse of the
`noble lie' should not be neglected as a frame of reference for interpreting this Odysseus and his predicament. The Philoctetes can thus be
seen to confront the moral and ideological dilemmas which various
contemporary articulations of the `noble lie' provoked for the democratic city in military and political crisis.
We can gain an added sense of the way in which Philoctetes opens up
the possibility of a positive appraisal of Odysseus' trick by comparing it
with a ruse in a very dierent Sophoclean tragedy. In Sophocles' Electra, Orestes sends his paidagogus to deceive Clytemnestra with a long
and false account of his death in a chariot race. Like Odysseus, Orestes
uses the language of prot when he explains and justies his deception:
`I think that nothing that is spoken for prot (sun kerdei ) is bad' (El.
61). But this deception also takes in Electra, thereby prolonging and
deepening her already considerable grief and agony. This is a play
where Orestes cruelly deceives his own loyal sister and where both
siblings seem to deceive themselves with respect to the nobility of their
planned matricide. In contrast to Philoctetes, the Electra characterises
Orestes' ephebic-style deceit as unequivocally dark and callous.181
Even if we view the deception of Clytemnestra as a tactical necessity for
the achievement of righteous vengeance, the play's lack of discussion
concerning the rights and wrongs of deception, alongside Orestes'
willingness to have his sister believe the falsehood, mark its representation of trickery as very dierent to that of Philoctetes. In the latter
play, the `noble lie' is given a voice with which to justify and defend
itself through appeals to collective salvation. In the intra-familial setting of the Electra, tactical lying is stripped of any nobility.
We have seen, then, that the notion of the `noble lie' in Athens' democratic, civic and public arenas of performance and competition is
180 Bowie (1997) 61.
200
201
This morning, I listened to some of the comments that the Labour party was
spinning in the media. I understand that it is in the nature of politics to oppose.
By opposition, one questions, and by questioning one elicits for the common
good knowledge that can make policies work better. To mislead the country
and paint a picture that is not true is not to oppose but to spin yarns. Spinning
yarns is not the traditional role of the Opposition. To spin yarns in the media
is to mislead the public and the business community. Yarn spinning wrecks
condence in the country; it makes the country look inadequate and international investors become suspicious. To spin yarns is not clever. It is too selfinterested and too self-serving. When the election comes, the electorate will
not be fooled.1
Before the hon. Member for Cunninghame North (Mr Wilson) leaves with
his electronic device, could you conrm, Madam Speaker, that there is a ban,
enforced by yourself, on electronic devices? When an hon. Gentleman has a
message from Mr Mandelson on his electronic device, which he reads at the
Dispatch Box, I suspect that that is a new departure for the House.2
The Labour Party under Tony Blair is the party of `soundbites' and
`spin-doctors'. The Conservative Party under John Major was revealed
to be the party of `sleaze'. Or at least, these are the images of political
deceit, trickery and corruption which emerged and informed the arguments and analyses of politicians and journalists in the last two years of
Major's government. Recent workers in political science have shown
how dierent countries and dierent political climates defy any attempt
to write a monolithic account of how and why political skulduggery
occurs, increases or becomes an `issue'.3 But individuals or institutions
which take up stances against corruption (or, more rarely, are happy to
1 Nirj Deva (Conservative MP for Brentford and Isleworth) quoted in Hansard, 26
November 1996.
2 Ian Bruce (Conservative MP for South Dorset) quoted in Hansard, 11 March 1997.
3 See the following collections of essays: Ridley and Doig (1995); della Porta and Meny
(1997); Levi and Nelken (1996); Ridley and Thompson (1997). For important observations on `bribery' in Athenian politics and its representation in the orators, see
Harvey (1985).
202
203
admit to being corrupt) are often doing so for strategic reasons of selflegitimation and self-promotion in a variety of competitive environments.4 In this sense, the exposure and pursuit of scandals is crucially
implicated in processes of political performance. Today's political scientists soberly reect that corruption and deceit can no longer be regarded
as tools exclusive to totalitarian regimes, `developing' democracies or a
few rotten apples in the `developed' democratic barrel. They could also
add that `show trials' can take place in `developed' democracies too.5
But if political scientists have started to examine actual instances of
democratic `sleaze' and (to a much lesser extent) the `discourse' of
corruption, they are not doing the same for `spin'. To be sure, we have
had countless books and television programmes which document how
`spin' works and what a `spin-doctor' does.6 But these accounts are part
of a phenomenon or `discourse' which requires explanation. Why is
`spin' now a key topos in the rhetoric of politicians or the assessments
of the Fourth Estate? There have always been press ocers and political statements designed for mass communication in the media. So why
have `spin' and `soundbite-politics' suddenly become objects of scrutiny and vexed argument? And what does it mean for modern democratic culture that it has apparently become so concerned with its own
processes of performance and communication?
I do not intend to answer these questions about modern democracy
seriously. But I have raised them in order to provide a clarifying frame
for the real concerns of this chapter.7 I want to argue that the democratic
oratory of classical Athens is crucially concerned with its own modes
and techniques of performance in general and deceptive performance
4 See Levi and Nelken (1996) 2.
5 The strategic and theatrical quality of recent anti-corruption campaigns was most
recently and blatantly demonstrated in Britain when Labour and the Liberal Democrats
encouraged the television journalist Martin Bell to stand as an independent `antisleaze' candidate against the Tory MP for Tatton, Neil Hamilton. Hamilton was under
investigation for having taken bribes. Bell held a press conference on Tatton Common
but as the cameras and reporters arrived, he was confronted by Hamilton and his wife.
A surreal argument between the two candidates was performed in the midst of a scufing corona of media personnel. The television image was of two men and a woman
duelling in an empty eld for the benet of attending journalists. Thanks to Dr Neil
Reynolds for reminding me of this piece of theatre.
6 The BBC screened a Panorama documentary on (predominantly Labour) techniques of
`spin' on the eve of the 1996 Labour Conference. Earlier in the same year, Channel 4
screened an American documentary about Democratic and Republican techniques.
For insider accounts of Westminster `spin' and `soundbite' techniques and media collusion with them, see Jones (1995). See below pp. 2437 for a novelistic account of
`spin' in the United States.
7 The particular examples of `sleaze' and `spin' rhetoric will no doubt soon fade from the
memory, but newly topical examples will readily come to readers' minds.
204
205
206
207
208
209
ambitions of the elite. At the same time as the Athenians gained the
benet of having educated men serve in advisory roles of the state,
they kept these advisors on a tight leash and restrained the tendency of
the educated elite to evolve into a ruling oligarchy.
In the lawcourt, the speaker attacks his opponent as a deceptive
sophist, a `clever speaker', a logographer (or reliant on one), a magician with words and so on. And in Ober's terms, the `logical corollary'
of this is the self-representational claim to be `inexperienced' in
speaking.21 In order to keep the disingenuous and strategic quality of
these self-representations or invectives rmly in mind, I want to designate them with the phrase `the rhetoric of anti-rhetoric'.22 At the
same time, my loose analogy with modern `anti-spin' rhetoric only goes
so far. I will discuss the orators' attacks on opponents as `types' of
rhetorical technician sophist, logographer and so on. But I will also
address oratory's focus on `rhetoric' in a much broader sense of the
word. My fourth section will show how a speaker can expose the deceptive `rhetoric' of a citizen's presentation of body and self in everyday
life.23 My fth section returns to the sense of `rhetoric' as a dangerous techne in Athens' lawcourts. But here the orator's `anti-rhetoric'
will be seen to expose, not the opponent's conformity to a deceptive
`type', but rather his deceptive manipulation of common strategies of
argument (topoi). My nal section examines Aeschines' and Demosthenes' engagement in an antagonistic meta-discourse which scrutinises the fabrication of truth (aletheia) in terms of imitation (mimesis)
and detectability.
Sophistry and logography, witchcraft and `cleverness'
in Athenian oratory
In his speech Against Meidias, Demosthenes anticipates the charge that
he has written and practised his oration.24 He argues that it would be
foolish of him not to prepare himself and adds that it is eectively
Meidias who has written the speech for him through his crimes:
Perhaps too he will say something of this sort; that my present speech is all
carefully thought out and prepared. I admit, Athenians that I have thought it
21 Ober (1989) 174.
22 I have borrowed this phrase from Valesio (1980).
23 Here I have deliberately purloined the title from Goman (1969). For Goman's
reading of self-presentation in modern western society as a `theatrical' and `performative' process and its relevance to Athens, see Cohen (1991); Goldhill (1999) 1314.
24 There is some doubt as to whether this speech was ever actually delivered. For the
evidence and the arguments see MacDowell (1990) 238; Wilson (1991) 187. See also
Ober (1994).
210
out and I should not dream of denying it; yes, and I have spent all possible care
on it (memeletekenai ). I would be a wretched creature if all my wrongs, past and
present, left me careless of what I was going to say to you about them. Yet the
real composer of my speech is Meidias. The man who has furnished the facts
with which the speeches deal ought in strict justice to bear that responsibility,
and not the man who has devoted thought and care to lay an honest case before
you today. (Demosthenes 21.1912)25
A rhetorical treatise attributable to Anaximenes of Lampsacus indicates that it was a common tactic to deride speakers for writing their
oration and for intensive training or preparation.26 However, Anaximenes does recommend a suitable reply to such derision: `we must
come to close quarters about suggestions of that sort, in a tone of
irony, and about writing the speech to say that the law does not
forbid one to speak a written speech oneself any more than it forbids
one's adversary to speak an unwritten speech'.27 As to the charge of
having learnt and practised a speech, Anaximenes recommends the
following:
If they say that we study and practise (meletan) speaking, we shall admit the
charge and say: `We who study speaking are not litigious ( philodikoi ), whereas
you who do not know how to make a speech are proved to be making a malicious prosecution (sukophanton) against us now and have done so before.' So
we make it appear to the advantage of citizens if he too learnt to be a rhetor as
he would not be such a wicked blackmailer (sukophanten) if he did. (Anaximenes Ars Rhetorica 36.3940 (p. 88, 1420))
211
by replying that everyone, as far as he can, helps his friends with instruction and advice (36.42 (p. 89, 48)).
This last piece of advice is not taken up in any of our extant public
speeches. Nobody admits to having written speeches for others or
having taught them. Nor does anyone ever admit to buying a written
speech. But there are occasions when orators openly or tacitly admit
their opponents' abusive labels of `cleverness at speaking' (deinotes
legein) or `being a rhetor'. In these instances (some well documented by
Ober) the speaker draws a contrast between a rhetorical activism which
is deceitful and harmful to the polis and the honest, benecial activism
which (of course) he has always adhered to.28 In his speech On the
Crown, Demosthenes rejects Aeschines' charges of deception (apate ),
sophistry and wizardry ( goeteia) as applicable to Aeschines rather than
himself (18.276). But he admits to Aeschines' charge of deinotes: `I am
also sure that my cleverness well, be it so' (kakei n' eu oid' oti thn e mhn
deinothta e stw gar). He goes on to make it clear that unlike Aeschines, he always uses his skill in the public domain and for the good
of the demos (27784). In his speech Against Ctesiphon, Aeschines
tacitly admits that he is an able speaker by nature ( phusis) when he
`anticipates' Demosthenes' claim that his phusis is like that of the Sirens
whose charming voices bring destruction (3.2289).29 Aeschines deects this picture by arguing that, while strictly unfounded, such an
accusation would be understandable coming from an inarticulate general (strategos) who was jealous of his ability. But, he continues, it is
intolerable to hear this attack from a man who `is made up of words'
(ex onomaton sunkeimenos) and who `takes refuge in ``simplicity'' and
the ``facts'' '. He concludes that Demosthenes would be as useless as a
reed-less aulos if you took out his tongue (3.229).30 This is just one
example of Demosthenes' and Aeschines' constant tussle over the
212
training, quality and eects of their voices and I will have cause to return to their focus on vocal performance below.
Cleverness and ability in speech and preparation: these are notions
which the speaker can admit as applying to himself. Demosthenes admits to having written out his speech for himself but no extant oration
follows Anaximenes' recommendation that a speaker should admit to
having trained others or to having written their speeches.31 And on the
evidence we have, it seems that admissions of preparation and rhetorical skill are conned to high-prole rhetores such as Demosthenes or
Aeschines, spoken in propria persona. Legal speeches written for clients
do not seem to contain such admissions, despite (or perhaps because
of ) Anaximenes' recommendations. In the case of well-known career
politicians, their standing was perhaps so high and the `ction' of their
inexperience so obviously fragile, that the demos gave them the licence
to attempt the reassurance that their transparent involvement with the
technai of speech was all in a just cause.
Alongside the accusation of writing for others, there was another
charge levelled at any elite speaker, whatever the extent of his involvement in political and legal discourse, which could not be admitted,
even implicitly. This was the accusation of being a sophist, with all its
apparent connotations of cunning and deceit. It seems that whoever
you were, this label could not be admitted or given a positive colouring. Like the accusation of sycophancy and writing for others, a charge
of sophistry had to be ignored or denied and turned back on the opponent who tried to pin it on you.32 Aeschines and Demosthenes constantly accuse each other of being sophists in the ve speeches relating
to the trial of Timarchus, the embassy to Philip and the crowning of
Demosthenes.
They also abuse each other, in the context of alleged rhetorical abil31 It seems likely that Anaximenes' recommendation that these particular charges be admitted is polemical. Scholars have generally viewed the Ars Rhetorica as a `sophistic'
text. See Kennedy (1963) 115f. Whilst I would argue that anyone teaching rhetoric or
writing speeches for others could be labelled `a sophist' (hence Isocrates' and Aristotle's anxieties to attack and distance themselves from sophistry), Anaximenes is attempting to nd and promote a topos which admits and neutralises accusations of
sophistry and logography. For him, such practices should not be taboo. This would
explain why he promotes this topos when (as we will see below), unlike admissions to
preparation and writing one's own speech, admissions to sophistry and writing for
others are not found in extant oratory.
32 See Aeschin. 1.125, 175, 3.16 and 202: Demosthenes 18.276, 19.2468 and 250. For a
variation on `he's a sophist' see Lys. fr. 1.5 in the text of Thalheim (1901) with the
translation and discussion of Millett (1991) 13. An alleged ex-pupil of Socrates is
accused of systematically cheating a range of creditors. The speaker glosses this behaviour as `the life of the sophist'.
213
ity or sophistry, with names denoting witchcraft and magic.33 Demosthenes is described as a goes (`wizard') several times by Aeschines.
The term implies trickery and delusion of an audience through magic
arts but, as Burkert and Bowie have emphasised, it is also associated
with unAthenian identity and behaviour.34 It is thus a perfect term of
abuse to connote sophistry since many notable `sophists' were foreigners. The public texts of Athens can be seen to be identifying a
technique of performance as `deceptive communication' and classifying it as alien to normative Athenian identity.
Just as the Spartans are castigated for their dishonesty and deceptive
speech in late fth-century Athenian drama and historiography, so the
oratory of the fourth-century tropes `sophistic' technique in public
trials and debates as the inltration of `unAthenian' activity. But if
this aspect to the representation of `sophistry' reminds us of the Tory
exploitation of the American associations of `spin', there is also a peculiarly ancient Greek resonance to this connection between rhetoric and
witchcraft. Dinarchus, Aeschines and Demosthenes all utilise a cultural analogy between the deceits of sophistry or rhetoric and the spellbinding eects of magic which we see theorised in the writings of
Gorgias, Plato and Isocrates.35 Again these terms (goes and baskanos)
are non-negotiable; neither Aeschines nor Demosthenes can admit to
being `wizards' of speech.
Where the label `sophist' crops up as a term of abuse throughout
extant oratory, Aeschines and Demosthenes often oer extended
vignettes of the other's sophistry. Demosthenes tells his jury that
Aeschines never acted in a play from which he quoted in a previous
33 Demosthenes is described as a goes at Aeschin. 2.124, 153, 3.137 (in conjunction with
magos) and 207. Goes, pharmakeus and sophistes are used of Eros at Pl. Symp. 203d.
Demosthenes prefers a dierent word for a magician against Aeschines baskanos; see
18.132 and adjectivally at 119, 139, 242, 317. See also 21.209, 25.80, 83. No other
orator uses it. Whereas goes seems to be a general term connoting trickery and working magic, baskanos more specically connotes malevolence. It is derived from the
verb baskai nw which can mean `to bewitch' or `give the evil eye'. As at Dem. 18.242,
Aristophanes uses baskanos in relation to sycophancy and slander; see Ar. Eq. 105,
Plut. 571. It would seem that Demosthenes attempts to trump Aeschines' deployment
of goes, by using an analogous, but more specically loaded term. At Dem. 18.2579
Aeschines is mocked for reading texts during his mother's shady nocturnal rituals, and
it is implied that his howling voice was trained in this context. Perhaps baskanos is
meant to evoke this past.
34 Burkert (1962) 55; Bowie (1993) 11415.
35 See Din. 1.66, 92 where, again, Demosthenes is the goes. On the link made between
magic and rhetoric in Gorgias, Plato and Isocrates see de Romilly (1975). For the
specic links made by Plato between apate, sophistry, rhetoric and goeteia see Burkert
(1962) 501.
214
215
from the `script' serves to make the speaker's attack more authoritative.
The opponent is a sophist, but a creative vignette of his activities appears to raise the attack above the level of conventional name-calling.
Aeschines wants to convince the jury that he is not just tapping into a
set of commonly-held prejudices which have worked well in the past.
He makes his accusation sound `truthful' by describing what this particular sophist does at the demos' expense.
While we have examples of anti-rhetorical charges being admitted
and given a positive colouring, the charge of being a sophist was nonnegotiable. It seems that the charge of being a logographer, in the sense
of writing for others, was similarly impossible to admit. Thucydides
represents Cleon criticising his audience for listening to ecclesia
speeches as if they were spectators of sophistic displays rather than
deciding on national and international policy (3.38.7). And, as we will
see in the next chapter, Aristophanes certainly portrays sophistic
teaching and logography as a threat (albeit laughable) to honest and
just legal and political transaction.37 We can see that the cultural image
of the sophist connoted the display of, and instruction in self-serving
deception at the same time as `sophistry' became identiable as a new
technology and a distinctive form of education.38
Whilst Ober does observe that an orator can admit to deinotes or
being a rhetor and write those roles positively, he does not mark a difference between terms connoting rhetorical deceit which can be neutralised and those which cannot. The distinction is not important for
Ober because he is primarily concerned to demonstrate that the subgroup of the citizen elite who are perceived to be rhetores have a licence
to admit and defend their own eloquence and experience at the same
time as they are attacked for it. He does not ask himself why an orator
can admit to being deinos legein but not to being a sophistes. I now turn
to that question.
Speaking democratically and the response of Plato and
Aristotle
We saw that Demosthenes had no trouble in redening his deinotes
positively and democratically. And Aeschines was able to turn the
37 For the most pertinent references and limited discussion, see Murphy (1938) 718. A
mass of bibliography could be given. See Dover (1970) xxviiixxvii, (1972) 109.;
Cartledge (1990b) 358; O' Regan (1992); Bowie (1993) 11224; MacDowell (1995)
125.
38 On the history of the word sophistes and its increasingly pejorative connotations in the
classical period, see Guthrie (1971) 2437.
216
charge that he had the phusis of a Siren into a modest admission that
his eloquence was indeed a matter of phusis a positive phusis with all
its implications of an ability which has not been acquired artfully or
articially. Other speakers who go to court can be subject to the full
range of meta-discursive abuses, but unlike rhetores they have to maintain the `inexperience' topos at all times. However the rhetor can and
must deny that he writes speeches for others, teaches and uses the
technai of rhetoric as a sophist, or transforms the courtroom or ecclesia
into a sophistic laboratory of deception. The rhetor is allowed to be
more `rhetorical' than anyone else but he is constantly subject to the
suspicion that his `rhetoric' exceeded the limits imposed by isegoria.
One of Ober's fundamental questions is why, given the obvious dangers and deceptions which rhetorical expertise brought to the democracy, rhetores were allowed to operate at all. The answer is not simply
(as Ober formulates it) that egalitarian suspicion of rhetoric's deceptive
potential kept a useful elite's deployment of rhetoric in check. Rather,
the inadmissibility of being a peddler or a recipient of logography
and sophistry reveal and reinforce the limits of democratic rhetorical
licence.
The terms sophistes and logographos are not abusive, inadmissible
terms just because they describe elitist occupations. In their strategies
of suspicion and denigration the orators represent sophistry and logography as practices which valorise the end of winning an argument
over and above the means and motives through which that end is achieved. Aeschines even represents `Demosthenes the sophist' as using
the legal process as a forum for the didactic display of his powers of
deception. In the speech Against Lacritus, Demosthenes' client similarly accuses his opponent of being a `perdious sophist' ( poneros sophistes) who considers himself a great deceiver of juries and takes
money for teaching others to do the same (35.403).39
When we set these attacks on sophistry against the orators' denitions of what makes a good upstanding rhetor, it becomes clear that
sophistry and logography are demonised because they are perceived as
lacking an ideological priority of commitment to the demos. In the
speech Against Ctesiphon, Aeschines warns his jury that they will be
deceived by Demosthenes if they focus on the pleasing sound of his
speech rather than the obvious defects of his phusis and the real `truth'
(aletheia) (3.168). Aeschines goes on to outline some predictable qualities for the demotikos rhetor; he must be freeborn, he must have an
39 On this see Ober (1989) 1701.
217
218
219
220
apparent sovereignty of mass over elite. But there is another perspective on Athenian oratory which is stressed by those critics who seek to
use these speeches as `evidence' for the `sociology' or `discursive practices' of Attic society.46 If we are to give a full account of Athenian
culture's confrontation with the possibility of deception what Detienne calls the `ambiguity of speech' we need to address political and
legal discourse's involvement in the negotiation of disputes between
individuals. High-prole politicians and lower-prole litigants participated in `democratic discourse' but at the same time they were using
the lawcourts and the ecclesia to ght each other for status and recognition in the wider community. Of course, in many private cases it is
clear that large sums of money were at stake. But wealthy individuals
also used the courts to seek redress and renewed gains in an elite contest of manhood and honour.47 Here, the citizen performs in court in
order to enhance or rehabilitate his general `performance' in the eyes of
the city.
It is from this perspective that we must view some highly individual
strategies and counter-strategies through which speakers expose an
enormous variety of lies and tricks on the part of their opponents.
These strategies cannot be described as topoi, and I suspect that their
force derived from their relative novelty and singularity; their particularity served to highlight and isolate the singular (often exceptional)
`dishonesty' of the individuals against whom they were directed. They
all invoke cultural norms and accepted paradigms of behaviour but,
unlike the anti-rhetorical arguments I have just discussed, they are not
even recognisable as commonplaces. While these strategies focus on the
dishonesty of the opponent, and they are certainly `meta-discursive',
46 Here I am thinking particularly of the following studies: Dover (1974), (1978); Nouhaud (1982); Humphreys (1985); Foucault (1987); Halperin (1989); Millett (1991);
Cartledge (1990a); Osborne (1990); Winkler (1990b); Todd (1990), (1993); Cohen
(1991), (1995); Hunter (1994); Hall (1995); Wilson (1991).
47 Recent studies have highlighted the use of the lawcourts as a forum for feuding and
competition over public status and reputation. Our extant Athenian forensic speeches
participate in, or else draw on the language and protocols of, what has been termed a
`zero-sum' game. In accordance with this model of social rivalry, the male citizen elite
(and mainly the inner wealth-elite of the liturgical class) extend their rivalries and
squabbles as high-prole citizens to the public stage of the lawcourts. This extension
occurs, as Cohen (1995) 141 puts it, in order to `avenge dishonour or outmanoeuvre
an enemy'. See Winkler (1990b) 178.; Cohen (1991) 171202; (1995) 6370. See
Arist. Rh. 2.1382b where Aristotle articulates a zero-sum principle of social competition in his treatment of fear. See also the sophistic extract Anonymus Iamblichi DK 89
b1720, where it is stated that nobody likes to give honour to someone else because
they think that they are themselves being deprived of something.
221
48 Winkler (1990b) 199200, denes the ancient `science' of physiognomics as `the informal practice of reading people's ``natures'' by the observation of their physical
characteristics and style'. For a succinct account of the problems of dening certain
ancient practices as `scientic' see Lloyd (1970) 125. This kind of practice, and the
assumptions on which it rests, can be traced back to Homeric epic. See Hom. Il.
13.27587, where Idomeneus oers instructions for spotting a coward from his physical appearance before a battle. Evans (1969) lists passages informed by physiognomic
assumptions in Homer, and other archaic poets. Most of our surviving physiognomic
texts date to the second century ad and after (Forster (1893), Gleason (1995) and
Barton (1994) 95131). However, two pseudo-Aristotelian treatises on human physiognomy are datable to the fourth century bc. See Lloyd (1983) 1826; MacC. Armstrong (1958) 52f. Galen Anim. mor. corp. temp. 7 claims that Hippocrates invented
physiognomics, and the Hippocratic corpus certainly contains physiognomic material.
See, for example Hippoc. Epid. 2.5.1, 16, 23, 2.6.1. Porph. Vit. Pythag. 13 claims that
Pythagoras used physiognomic analysis. Cic. De Fato 5.10 and Tusc. 4.37 relate a story
of Zopyrus' physiognomic diagnosis of Socrates as stupid and fond of women. A
Zopyrus is listed at D. L. 2.105 as a treatise written by Socrates' pupil Phaedo. D. L.
6.16 ( Caizzi fr.1), lists a Peri ton sophiston phusiognomonikos as a work by Antisthenes.
49 This speech may not be by Demosthenes. Kennedy (1963) 2078 and Ober (1989) 358
regard it as genuine.
222
223
cover for his real character, and he shows therein the wildness and bitterness of
his disposition. (Demosthenes 45.689)53
224
225
position; in reality it conrms Stephanus `misanthropic' temper (misanthropias) and the `wildness and bitterness of his disposition' (to tes
dianoias agrion kai pikron). Apollodorus' argument here dovetails uncannily with a section of the Aristotelian Physiognomics which explores
the drawbacks of an `expression method' of physiognomic interpretation; this is a method which the author distinguishes from an equally
awed `zoological' approach.59 The Physiognomics soberly points out
that two men with radically dierent dispositions (dianoiai ) can exhibit
the same facial expression; there is often nothing to tell the dierence
between the expression of a courageous man and that of an impudent
one. Similarly, a man of generally gloomy disposition can have a good
day and therefore look cheerful.60
Apollodorus destroys any unequivocal link between a specic set of
physical signs and the character-type which they are commonly held to
signify. But he does not disrupt the workings of the assumptions which
ground physiognomic interpretation. Apollodorus is very careful to
provide a plausible causal account of how the signs of sophrosune could
also connote a completely dierent (in this case, totally antithetical)
moral disposition. Stephanus is not simply held to have hidden his
misanthropy and malignity behind a mask of moderation and modesty.
Rather, the commonly recognised signs of sophrosune are given a functional role in the practice of misanthropy. To appear unapproachable is
to be unapproachable; to want to be unapproachable without mitigating
personal circumstances is to be misanthropic and rude. Hence the
signs of unapproachability, which happen to be the same as those of
sophrosune, are often proof that a man does not wish to take part in the
`give-and-take' of everyday public life. The misanthrope can perpetuate his disposition by warding o demands from others with his sullen
looks. At the same time he can hide that disposition because its physical manifestation usually signies a positive character-type. In short,
Apollodorus exposes Stephanus' public self-representation as a clever
but disingenuous theatrical performance.
Athenian oratory does not abound with physiognomic-style assumptions and interpretations.61 But we have seen that, within their
specic battles, Demosthenes and Aeschines are fond of diagnosing an
inner disposition, phusis or ethos from the quality and strength of each
other's public-speaking voice.62 They also mock, mimic and analyse
59 See MacC. Armstrong (1958) 535.
60 Arist. Physiognomics 3 in the text of Forster (1893).
61 However, Evans (1969) is too pessimistic in claiming that Attic oratory is virtually
silent in relation to physiognomic assumptions or strategies.
62 See Aeschin. 2.345, 3.2289; Dem. 18.30810, 19.336.
226
227
assumptions. Finally, and most importantly for my purposes, the passage demonstrates how a speaker can confront and represent the
problem of the citizen who lies to the demos with a meta-discursive
strategy that is strikingly unusual, thereby creating the impression that
the strategy is not a strategy at all. Apollodorus creates the impression
that the conventional topoi of anti-rhetoric are both inadequate as descriptions of Stephanus and unnecessary as typical strategies of invective. With Stephanus, we have a man who lives and breathes dishonesty
in order to remain true to his socially unacceptable self. He is able to be
misanthropic by hoodwinking everyone into assuming that he is sophron. There is, Apollodorus implies, no need for the name-calling
(`sycophant', `sophist' and so on) which juries hear every day, and such
name-calling would fail to capture the extraordinary truth of Stephanus' life of deception. Apollodorus' physiognomics of deceit attempts
to authorise its truth-status by virtue of its distinctive distance from the
standard topoi of invective used against `dishonest' opponents.
The lying topos: the orators deconstruct the
commonplace
Apollodorus conjures up an image of his opponent's dishonesty by
focusing on his (strategic) performances in Athens' thoroughfares and
meeting places. This is not an attack on Stephanus' use of rhetorical
technai in the limited domain of the lawcourt and as such it is a marked
departure from the anti-rhetorical topoi which I have already discussed. But there are occasions where a speaker actually distances
himself from the deceptive connotations of rhetorical techne by foregrounding his opponent's use of commonplaces and by `unmasking'
the lies which such topoi conceal. There are several examples of this
anti-rhetorical strategy in extant oratory but I will only discuss two in
detail.67 They all deal with dierent topoi and they all serve to undermine an opponent by representing an argument he has used (or will
use) as a mere commonplace which has become a commonplace precisely because it has proved itself an eective means of disguising guilt.
As Ober has argued, topoi were the means by which mass and elite
colluded in dramatic ctions. But the orators occasionally argue that
topoi constitute the ction of an opponent's innocence.
The `as you all know' topos is a particularly frequent commonplace
67 Other examples: Ant. 5.45 (on the `plea for a hearing' topos) with Usher and
Edwards (1985) 70; Dem. 21.1367 (on the `have you ever seen me doing this' topos)
and 1412 (on the `inexperience' topos).
228
68 See Ober (1989)1479 for discussion and examples. The most interesting creative expansion of the `as you all know' topos has to be Aeschin. 1.12730. For this appeal to
pheme see the discussion of Ford (1999).
69 See above nn. 57 and 58.
70 On the orators use of `as you all know' for history see Pearson (1941); Perlman (1961);
Nouhaud (1982). On orators using the topos to introduce citations and references to
drama and poetry, see North (1952); Perlman (1964); Ober and Strauss (1990) 2505.
71 Arist. Rh. 3.1408a326. Ober (1989) 149 connects this interpretation of the topos'
manipulation of the masses with Hyp. 4.22 where the orator claims that even children
know which of Athens' rhetores had taken bribes.
72 Ober (1989) 1501. On the question of whether the notion of Athens as a `face-to-face'
society was reality or ideality see above n. 57.
73 See, however, Dorjahn (1935) 291 who gives a passing reference to my passage as evidence that the `as you all know' topos was `nally turned into an abuse'.
229
Mantitheus anticipates Boeotus' possible use of the `as you all know'
topos and represents it as something crafted (technazei ) by all those
who have nothing to say that is fair or sound. The topos is viewed in
terms of a contrivance deployed by a non-specic mass of speakers who
use it as a veil for `reality'. The speaker explicitly connects his opponent with `the many' who use the topos and describes his opponent's
likely deployment of it as a method of `running away from the truth'
(apodidraskein ten aletheian). Mantitheus associates the topos with the
failure to provide supporting witnesses. As with Demosthenes' depiction of Aeschines' histrionic rhetoric an opponent's rhetoric is marked
as deceptive through its representation as a substitution for the provision of testimony.74 In this instance, however, a specic strategy is
being dismantled.
Furthermore, Mantitheus does not simply gloss the `as you all know'
topos as a cover for the presentation of unsubstantiated lies as common
facts; he oers a methodology to the audience for interpreting the
legitimacy of any occurrence of information represented as common
knowledge. He asks each jury-member to consider whether Boeotus'
`commonly knowns' are known to him personally. If they are not, the
juror is to assume that his ignorance is not private to himself but shared
by the rest of the jury and therefore deduce that the `as you all know
topos' has been used to present a ction or an unsubstantiated claim in
terms of a common rumour which is actually non-existent. In asking
the jurors to infer from their own ignorance to that of their fellow
judges, the speaker attempts to demolish any possibility that an individual will not be party to a body of communally held knowledge. He
therefore takes advantage of a democratic notion that common report
is necessarily dened as knowledge held by all individuals in the polis
without any exception. This passage could be read as a deliberate
playing o between a social reality on the one hand and an ideality on
the other. If it was actually possible, at polis level, for a citizen not to be
party to a particular item of pheme, then Mantitheus destroys that possibility by introducing the ideal conception of pheme as something
which has to be known by absolutely everyone for it to count as forensically and civically legitimate; `real' pheme as opposed to Boeotus'
plans for a topologically contrived pheme.75
74 See Dem. 19.120 where he suggests that Aeschines' rhetorical and theatrical skill can
render the need for witnesses redundant and, by implication, can be eective in
masking the fact that he has no witnesses.
75 See above n. 57 on the likelihood that not everybody was party to a particular item of
pheme.
230
231
demos. He does not say that Eratosthenes will attempt to rehearse such
topoi: Lysias' point is that these strategies are simply not open to a
member of the Thirty. By focusing on the commonplaces which elite
speakers use to deceptively promote their patriotic character, Lysias
encourages his audience to be suspicious of any attempt by Eratosthenes to use such commonplaces. But he also frames any recourse to
these commonplaces as an absurdity in Eratosthenes' case. It is as if
Eratosthenes' crimes are so blatant and heinous that rhetorical topoi
cannot perform their usual role of misleading a jury. Here, the `rhetoric
of anti-rhetoric' serves to highlight Eratosthenes' exceptional villainy:
his actions are so beyond the pale that the formal and habitual language
of rhetorical self-defence and misrepresentation is useless to him.
Lysias attacks his opponent on the grounds that his past behaviour is
not amenable to the norms of rhetorical deception. If rhetorical topoi
constituted certain ctions of innocence, inexperience, public duty,
and democratic character, it was sometimes advantageous for speakers
to stage an exposure of such ctions (to show how an opponent was
using established rhetorical elements to deceive) as part of their own
self-representing strategy.
Deceptive mimesis: `lie detection' in Aeschines and
Demosthenes
The orators seem to have developed creative strategies which mobilised
a self-consciousness concerning the rhetorical exchanges in which they
participated. This staged awareness of public rhetoric's power to use
deceitful and artful techniques which were so self-disguising or commonplace that they could slip past a jury unnoticed, is well illustrated
in the four speeches which represent the clash between Aeschines and
Demosthenes concerning an embassy to Philip and the crowning of
Demosthenes.
In his defence speech On the Embassy, Aeschines complains about
his involvement with Demosthenes: `In public aairs, I have become
excessively entangled with a goes and a villain who cannot even say
something true by accident' (sumpe plegmai d' e n th politei a kaq' uperbolhn anqrwpw gohti kai ponhrw , ov oud' an akwn alhqe v oude n
ei poi: 2.153). He claims that Demosthenes starts his lies by swearing
oaths (using his `shameless' eyes as well as words) and then not only
presents things that never happened as facts, but even tells of the day
on which they occurred. He `fabricates' the name of someone who was
supposed to be there (tinov onoma plasamenov). Aeschines describes his
232
233
234
81 wst' e n tai v euqunaiv ei v thn megi sthn me n apori an ajiknei sqai touv kathgorouv, polu de
e ti mallon touv dikastav.
82 kai tauta outwv eu prokateilhjotov tou nomoqe tou, eurhntai krei ttonev logoi twn
nomwn, ouv ei mh tiv umi n e rei , lhsete e xapathqe ntev.
235
Having set up this picture of certain men who deceptively argue for
illegal crowning proposals and pay lip service to the prohibitions of the
law in the forms of their statements, Aeschines immediately declares
83 Protagoras was notorious for supposedly teaching people how to make the `weaker'
argument into the `stronger' argument. See Kerferd (1981a) 10010 and Arist. Rh.
2.1402a528 on false enthymemes of probability, esp. 225: `And this is what `making
the worse appear the better argument' means (kai to ton httw de logon krei ttw poiei n
tout' e sti n). Wherefore men were justly disgusted with the promise of Protagoras. For
it is a lie (yeudov te gar e sti n), and is not true (ouk alhqe v) but apparent probability
(alla jainomenon ei kov), not found in any techne except rhetoric and eristic (kai e n oudemia te cnh all' e n rhtorikh kai e ristikh). See also Ar. Nub. 11218 where Strepsiades
describes the phrontisterion as the place where they keep the kreitton logos and the hetton
logos not to mention the parodic contest between these two personied logoi at 888f.
Kerferd (101) regards these as parodies of Protagorean doctrine.
84 See above n. 33.
85 toutwn gar twn touv upeuqunouv stejanountwn para touv nomouv oi me n jusei me trioi
ei sin, ei dh tiv e sti me triov twn ta paranoma grajontwn, all' oun proballontai ge ti
pro thv ai scunhv. prosgrajousi gar prov ta yhji smata stejanoun ton upeuqunon
`e peidan logon kai euqunav thv archv dw'. kai h me n poliv to i son adi khma adikei tai
prokatalambanontai gar e pai noiv kai stejanoiv ai euqunai o de to yhjisma grajwn
e ndei knutai toi v akouousin, oti ge graje me n paranoma, ai scunetai de e j' oiv hmarthke.
Kthsijwn de , w andrev Aqhnai oi, uperphdhsav ton nomon ton peri twn upeuqunwn kei menon, kai thn projasin hn arti wv proei pon umi n anelwn, pri n logon pri n euqunav dounai ge graje metaxu Dhmosqe nhn arconta stejanoun.
236
that Ctesiphon has not even used these forms of pretext; he has
not twisted the law or compromised with its wording as others have
done. Rather, he has completely overleapt the law (uperphdhsav ton
nomon).
The immediate implication of this contrast between those who twist
the law on the one hand, and the individual Ctesiphon who completely
outs it on the other, is ethical and political in tone. The former group
still feel their actions constrained by a metrios phusis and a characteristically Athenian sense of aischune. These political and ethical qualities
are what prevent them from proposing a wholesale violation of the law.
By contrast, Ctesiphon's proposal is represented as a complete break
with established legislation. Aeschines thereby implies that Ctesiphon's
approach displays none of the traces of moderation and shame which
could be found in the `half-way house' deceptions deployed by the
other proposers. He is thus represented as completely lacking these two
central ethical and political qualities.
Ctesiphon's proposal sets him apart, not only from the law-abiding
community per se but even from a constructed group of speakers who
edge around the law with their rhetoric; the proviso in their proposals
acknowledges and negotiates the text of the law. Ctesiphon has acted
as if the text of the law did not exist. He is thereby made to look far
worse than the average proposer of illegal motions. But Aeschines is
also at pains to emphasise that the `usual' articulation of the proviso
shows something to the audience. Despite his initial warning that these
new forms of statement might deceive the listener into overlooking
their illegality, he seems now to be maintaining that such provisos
actually signify an illegality and a sense of concomitant shame. These
forms of proposal draw attention to their own distorted quality. They
mark themselves as transgressive by signposting their dierence to
cited law. They are deceptive proposals, and yet markedly so. It is this
markedness which, according to Aeschines at least, makes them prone
to identication as distortions. By contrast, Ctesiphon does not mark
his trick as a trick in the customary manner.
In Demosthenes' speech On the False Embassy, the orator makes a
characteristic statement of his own patriotic opposition to the supposedly corrupt `faction' of Aeschines (19.20710). He claims that at every
ecclesia whenever there is any discussion of this faction and its activities,
the demos hears Demosthenes denouncing and incriminating these
men, and declaring roundly that they have been taking bribes and
making trac of all the interests of the polis (207). Demosthenes
points out that these declarations are met by an incriminating silence
from those he accuses:
237
And none of them ever contradicts me, or opens his mouth or lets himself be
seen. How is it, then, that the most impudent men in the polis, and the loudest
speakers, are overborne by me, the most timid man, who can speak no louder
than another? Because truth is strong (talethes ischuron), and consciousness of
corruption is weak (asthenes). This paralyses their audacity. This cripples their
tongues, closes their mouths, sties them, puts them to silence. (Demosthenes
19.2078)86
238
speech signals itself and the formal elements that give rise to such a
signalling are notably absent from the speech of the truth-teller. Only
the mimetically deceptive speeches of Demosthenes provide an exception to this rule, and therein, argues Aeschines, lies their danger. According to Demosthenes, the speech of those who are consciously
corrupt and deceitful is similarly distinctive in form; conscience produces weak, feint, elliptical expression. Thus the weak speech of the
liar is easy to spot and directly contrasts with the `strong' speech of the
truth-teller. Ctesiphon is not attacked for mimesis as Demosthenes is,
but Aeschines' inscription of two levels of deceit (the detectable, and
the undetectable) is striking. Clearly, Aeschines authorises himself here
as a rhetor who can act as a watchdog for, and educator of the demos
a common strategy in extant oratory, and particularly so in the legal/
political battles between Aeschines and Demosthenes which engage
with policy towards Macedonia.87 He oers his juries a methodology
for detecting `normal' liars at the same time as he stages an analysis of
exceptionally dangerous `super-liars'.
Doubtless, Aeschines' isolation of Demosthenes as a `mimetic' liar is
a countering ploy to deect Demosthenes' meta-discursive attacks on
his own previous career as an actor and the vocal, imitative and gestural skills which he brings into the ecclesia and the courtroom.88 But
the explicit characterisations of Demosthenes' lying mimesis also constitute two moments where a meta-discourse on the relationship between rhetoric, representation (of truth or lies) and imitation which
occurs in the works of Plato and Isocrates nds an (albeit limited and
crude) expression in practical rhetoric itself.89 Here, as with the other
anti-rhetorical arguments which I have discussed (the vignettes of
sophistry, the deployment of physiognomics, the deconstruction of
87 For the self-representation as `watchdog' and `educator' see Kennedy (1963) 239;
Pearson (1976) 198; Montgomery (1983) 5860; Ober (1989) 182. For a good
account of political in-ghting in relation to Athens' attitude towards Macedonia see
Montgomery (1983), especially 6894 on Aeschines' political and legal battles with
Demosthenes and their cultural, institutional and historical context.
88 See above p. 207 for references and bibiography. See also Hall (1995).
89 At Pl. Grg. 501d1502d8 Socrates describes poetry as rhetoric with metre and rhythm.
At. Pl. Resp. 3.393b1c11 Socrates regards poetry's mimesis as dangerous because of its
capacity to pass o falsehood as truths. At Pl. Resp. 10.596d1 an imaginary craftsman
who can make perfect copies of objects is described as `a most amazing sophist' and
this kind of imitation is described in terms of apate and goeteia at 10.598c1d6. See
Murray (1996) 2001. At Pl. Soph. 233e235a the sophist is compared to the painter.
On Plato's theories of mimesis see Ferrari (1989) 11418; Murray (1996) 36, 16882,
2378. On the use of the term in the fth century see Else (1958). For Isocrates' discussions and valorisation of mimesis as a tool in rhetorical pedagogy see Too (1995)
18494.
239
240
241
Fuck all this lying look what I'm really trying to write about is writing not all
this stu.1
The rhetorician would deceive his neighbours,
The sentimentalist himself; while art
Is but a vision of reality.2
The study of how to uncover deceptions is also by and large the study of how
to build up fabrications . . . one can learn how one's sense of ordinary reality
is produced by examining something that is easier to become conscious of,
namely, how reality is mimicked and/or how it is faked.3
1
2
3
4
242
243
There are some novels which use `metaction' to focus on the ways
in which specically `political' realities, meanings and values are `constructed'. Primary Colors is a ne example, though its explicit metactional frame is only a brief prefatory note. The novel reads as
an insider's documentary on Bill Clinton's campaign to become the
Democratic presidential candidate: its central characters Jack Stanton
and his wife Susan are obviously Bill and Hillary Clinton. Nevertheless, the anonymous author's note at the beginning of the novel claims
that (apart from a few `cameos' by real and well-known journalists) the
book `is a work of ction and the usual rules apply. None of the characters are real. None of these events ever happened'. This is a common
novelistic strategy, and the reader is not deterred from an inference
that this must be a rst-hand account of the Clinton campaign. At the
same time as the reader makes this inference, however, she is always
wondering whether this account is historically or factually accurate.
Anyone who followed the Clinton campaign closely might be able to
identify events which denitely did not happen or were not reported,
but the novel's focus on secret and `behind-the-scenes' discussions and
practices in the Stanton camp makes it dicult to know how far our
insider-narrator (`Henry') is making things up. How much of this story
is `ction' and how much `reality'? How far is the prefatory note to be
taken at `face value'? Furthermore, the novel stages debates between
Jack, Susan, their aides and their spin-doctors which reveal that their
world is fraught with conicting representations both of fact and morality: the politics depicted in Primary Colors is crucially concerned with
distinguishing between `false' and `genuine' character, truth and lies,
decent and indecent strategy, appearance and reality. In the middle of
his campaign, Stanton is accused by his political opponents of having
5 Waugh (1984) 334.
244
an aair with his wife's hairdresser. The aair was real but the evidence
put forward by his opponents is fabricated. They produce a `taped
phone conversation' between Stanton and the hairdresser. Henry realises that this conversation is a cleverly constructed collage of dierent
`bugged' telephone calls: innocent banter between himself and Stanton
has been spliced with the hairdresser's voice in order to concoct the
evidence they need. The Stanton camp bug and record the calls of a
television news anchor in order to concoct a similarly false and incriminating conversation. One of Stanton's aides gets an on-air interview with the anchor and plays him the tape. This (diversionary) stunt
demonstrates how easy it is to fabricate the relevant incriminating evidence: the truthful accusation against Stanton is thus substantially
discredited.
Primary Colors is subtitled `a novel of politics'. It paints the Stantons
in a morally ambiguous light. Stanton is ambitious, ruthless, sexually
promiscuous and ultimately prepared to `play dirty' with his opponents
and mislead his electorate. But he is also a man of ideas and conviction
who convinces everyone around him that he is the `genuine article'
who really thinks and cares about `the folks' of America. When Henry
realises that his boss is far from perfect, he decides to leave the campaign. Stanton tries to keep Henry on board with the following speech:
Two thirds of what we do is reprehensible. This isn't the way a normal human
being acts. We smile, we listen you could grow calluses on your ears from all
the listening we do. We do our pathetic little favors. We tell them what they
want to hear and when we tell them something they don't want to hear, it's
usually because we've calculated that's what they really want. We live an eternity of false smiles and why? Because it's the price you pay to lead. You don't
think Abraham Lincoln was a whore before he was president? He had to tell his
little stories and smile his shit-eating backcountry grin. He did it all just so he'd
get the opportunity, one day, to stand in front of the nation and appeal to the
`better angels of our nature'. That's when the bullshit stops. And that's what
this is all about . . . because you know as well as I do there are plenty of people
in this game who never think about the folks, much less their `better angels'.
They just want to win.6
Henry subsequently tells us (on the book's last page) that Stanton
could `talk all he wanted about an eternity of ``false'' smiles: his power
came from the exact opposite direction, from the authenticity of his
appeal, from the stark ferocity of his hunger. There was very little artice to him. He was truly needy. And now he truly needed me'. Thus
Primary Colors presents the reader with an `expose' of the corruption,
6 Anonymous (1996) 364.
245
246
bilities: the narrative ends before Stanton gets the chance to make good
his claim that the `bullshit' will stop when he is in power. It is all rather
unsettling.
I have chosen to begin this nal chapter with a discussion of Primary
Colors because this modern novel illustrates a number of ways in which
ction or documentary narrative can productively represent the problems which deception, rhetoric and what I have already termed `the
rhetoric of anti-rhetoric' pose for a democracy. The novel mixes four
modes of representing rhetoric and deception which are pertinent to
my ensuing discussion of Thucydides, Aristophanes and Euripides and
their engagement with deception, rhetoric and anti-rhetoric in the
democratic polis: the historical, the comic, the tragic and the metactional. If we treat Primary Colors as an historical account of the Clinton
campaign, it oers an analysis of the ways in which democracy and
its ideals are strained or undermined by an elite political and media
culture of smear and counter-smear campaigns, corruption, devious
strategies of rhetorical misrepresentation and the temptation to tell the
electorate what they want to hear. The novel also has a comic, even
satirical, strain: it represents Stanton's struggle for nomination as a
series of rhetorical wrestling bouts where policy issues become absurdly and often hilariously obscured by supercial processes of imagemaking and tabloid revelation. Then there is the distinctly serious and
tragic side: Stanton fails to live up to the moral expectations of his
camp-followers and that failure destroys individuals. The business of
democratic representation is stripped of nobility as Stanton's honesty
and integrity become more and more questionable. But the metactional preface disturbs the import of these historical, comic and tragic
modes. This is `just' a work of novelistic ction: the Stantons are not
`real' and `none of these events ever happened'. As the novel describes
a campaign race in contemporary America as a mad and, in many
ways, bad business where `spin' and countering misrepresentations
leave the electorate very much in the dark about who or what they are
voting for, the suggestion that this is just a good (funny, sad or `plausible') story makes it dicult to assess. The comic and tragic plot-making
of the novelist, alongside the `reality eects' of rst-hand witnessing
and historical recollection may amount to a penetrating interpretation
of American politics, but do these ctional devices make that interpretation truthful or do they make it distorted, unfair and partial? Is
this just another `spin' on `spin'? The metactional preface makes you
realise that novels can lie too. Thus the novel's depiction of rhetoric,
lies, spin and counter-spin can be read in several dierent ways de-
247
248
249
else, because he has been oered a bribe, attempts to mislead the ecclesia with `an elaborate display of specious oratory' (38.2).9
Cleon goes on to criticise his audience's management of debates:
`you are responsible for setting up contests badly' (ai tioi d' umei v kakwv
agwnoqetountev: 38.4). As spectators (theatai ) of speeches and hearers
of deeds, they pay little attention to accomplished facts and are swayed
by eloquent speakers' accounts of what is feasible in the future rather
than the sight of what has actually been done (38.4). `You are the best',
he continues, `at being deceived (apatasthai ) with novelty of argument
and at refusing to follow established opinion, always slaves to paradox
(atopon) and scorners of what is familiar' (38.5).10 Cleon then accuses
the Athenians of all wanting to be orators themselves, or failing that, to
compete with those dealers in paradox and novelty by seeming not to
lag behind them in wit but to applaud a smart saying before it is out of
a speaker's mouth (38.6). Cleon concludes that the Athenians are as
quick to anticipate what is said as they are slow to foresee the consequences of such words. They treat deliberation as if it were an epideictic agon: `you are in thrall to pleasure (hedonei ) of the ear and are
more like men who sit as spectators (theatai ) of sophists than men who
deliberate about the polis' (38.7).11 Later in his speech, Cleon reiterates
his warning concerning a hedonistic impulse in both the speaker and
his audience. He tells the ecclesia not to reverse their decision through
pity (oiktos and eleos) or through delight in eloquence (hedonei logon).
As for orators who give pleasure through speech (hoi terpontes logoi
rhetores), they will have other opportunities for display, where for a
brief pleasure the polis will not pay a heavy penalty while they themselves get a ne fee for ne speaking (40.3).
The man who does get up to speak in favour of clemency towards
Mytilene opposes Cleon's rhetoric of anti-rhetoric with a countering
rhetoric of anti-rhetoric. Diodotus implies that Cleon is wrong to attack the Athenians' decision to reopen debate about the right course of
action. Haste and anger will result in acts of folly and anyone who
9 kai dhlon oti h tw le gein pisteusav to panu dokoun antapojhnai wv ouk e gnwstai
agwni sait' an, h ke rdei e pairomenov to euprepe v tou logou e kponhsav paragein peirasetai.
10 kai meta kainothtov me n logou apatasqai aristoi, meta dedokimasme nou de mh xune pesqai e qe lein, douloi ontev twn ai ei atopwn, uperoptai de twn ei wqotwn . . .
11 aplwv te akouhv hdonh hsswmenoi kai sojistwn qeatai v e oikotev kaqhme noiv mallon
h peri polewv bouleuome noiv. As Macleod (1978) 68, n. 18 points out, a similar contrast between epideictic and deliberative oratory is found at Isoc. 5.1213 and Dem.
14.12.
250
contends that words should not be guides for actions is either stupid or
anxious to conceal his own inability to speak well for a cause which he
knows to be discreditable (42.12). Diodotus implies that Cleon is
concealing bad advice and self-interest by engaging in slander. Using a
verb which is often used (by Gorgias, Plato, and Aristophanes) to describe rhetoric and poetry's power to dumbfound, deceive and paralyse
cognition, he says that such slanders `unhinge' (ekplexai ) his opponents and audience (42.2).12 Given Gorgias' deployment of the term
ekplexis to describe the eects of rhetoric and representation, Diodotus
is perhaps signalling that Cleon's gures and tropes constitute the very
displays of cleverness and sophistry which the demagogue condemns.13
As Ober has put it most recently: `Diodotus reveals the obvious aw in
Cleon's anti-public speech meta-rhetoric: Cleon's attack on clever
speech is embedded in a clever speech, and thereby demonstrates the
impossibility of communicating complex meanings through the medium of words.'14
Diodotus maintains that slanders and imputations of bribery of the
sort that Cleon has uttered create an unacceptable climate of suspicion
in the political arena (42.36). The orator who has been accused of
taking a bribe to make a deceptive speech becomes an object of suspicion if he is successful, and if he fails he is regarded as dishonest as well
as stupid. Diodotus sees this climate of prejudice and suspicion as
detrimental to the polis because good advisers become afraid to speak
out. Diodotus implies that the eloquence of slanderers like Cleon
causes the demos to make mistakes under their inuence. He also implies that the current political climate is unhealthy because the people
bestow rewards and honours on the speakers whose advice they approve and they punish the orators whose advice they reject. Diodotus
argues that this climate of reward and punishment makes it more likely
that orators will speak insincerely in an eort to curry favour with their
audience. Returning to the theme of suspicion, he then makes the
bizarre claim that speakers have to deploy deception in order to gain
acceptance with their audience:
12 For the connotations of ekplexis in drama, philosophy and rhetorical theory see the
references and excellent discussion of Lada (1993) 978 and 127, nn. 2634. On the
term in Thucydides, see Hunter (1986) 41521.
13 See Gorg. Hel. 16 ( DK 82 b11.16). On the Gorgianic style of Cleon's speech, see
Yunis (1996) 901.
14 Ober (1998) 98. I only read Ober's analysis of the Mytilenean debate during the nal
stages of completing this book. His characterisation of the debate as a `substantial
``meta-rhetoric'' ' (96) which oers a critique of the democracy's capacity to make
good policy is close to my own and I have tried to incorporate it where relevant.
251
kaqe sthke de tagaqa apo tou euqe ov legomena mhde n anupoptotera einai twn
kakwn, wste dei n omoi wv ton te ta deinotata boulomenon pei sai apath prosagesqai to plhqov kai ton ta amei nw le gonta yeusamenon piston gene sqai. monhn
te polin dia tav perinoi av eu poihsai e k tou projanouv mh e xapathsanta adunaton o gar didouv janerwv ti agaqon anqupopteuetai ajanwv ph ple on e xein.
And it has come to pass that good advice frankly given is regarded with just as
much suspicion as the bad, and that, in consequence, a speaker who wants to
carry the most dangerous measures must resort to deceit in order to win the
people to his views, precisely as the man whose proposals are good must lie in
order to be believed. And because of this excessive cleverness Athens is the
only polis where a man cannot do a good service to his country openly and
without deceiving it; for whenever he openly oers you something good
you requite him by suspecting that he will secretly prot by it. (Thucydides
3.43.24)
Diodotus concludes his excursus on the nature of contemporary political debate by attacking his audience. He tells them that they would be
more prudent in their decisions if they had to suer the same dangers
and risks as those who advise them. `But as it is', he says, `whenever
you meet with a reverse you give way to your rst impulse and punish
your adviser for a single judgement instead of yourselves, the multitude
who shared in the error' (43.5).
Gomme remarks that the quarrel between Cleon and Diodotus is `as
much about how to conduct debate in the ekklesia as about the fate of
Mytilene'.15 These reections on the character and reception of political rhetoric are located within an acrimonious rhetorical agon and, as
Ober points out, this agonistic quality is emphasised by Thucydides'
introduction and conclusion to the debate, as well as Cleon's own terminology.16 Cleon's attack on orators and audiences alike is clearly part
of a strategy to discredit the whole idea of calling for a second debate
when it had already been decided to mete out a severe punishment to
the Mytileneans. Diodotus' interpretation of the dynamics of contemporary political debate leads o from a need to neutralise Cleon's claim
that the second discussion is driven by deception, bribery and an
Athenian penchant for over-cleverness, sophistic display and rhetorical
hedonism.17 In the wake of Cleon's charge that anyone who speaks for
Mytilene has been bribed, his rejection of the use of logos, and his at15 Gomme (1956) 315. See also Croally (1994) 567: the Mytilenean debate and Plataean
debate `both reveal a (sophistic) concern with the possibilities of language; both betray
the idea that logos must deceive to be eective and that it is dependent on paradox and
contradiction for its power'.
16 See Ober (1998) 103 for references and discussion.
17 See Macleod (1978) 757 for Diodotus' verbal and thematic echoes of Cleon's arguments.
252
253
254
255
cause Thucydides oers no evidence (outside the disreputable accusations from Cleon) to suggest that the reader should not take Diodotus'
argument at `face value'. For Harvey Yunis, Diodotus and Cleon both
exaggerate the truth and use trickery, but Diodotus' praise of deliberation puts him closer to Pericles' vision of `taming democracy' through
legitimate techniques of instruction and rhetoric. Thucydides' (not to
mention Yunis') admiration for Pericles therefore means that Diodotus'
motives and arguments are not to be viewed with suspicion.28 Yunis
also points out that unlike Cleon, Diodotus is an obscure gure. Like
Agoracritus (the sausage-seller) in Aristophanes' Knights, Diodotus
therefore represents the transforming possibilities of an individual who
oers a dierent model of political rhetoric and decision-making to the
established equipe of corrupt, attering rhetores.29 For Yunis, Diodotus'
obscurity means that he is exempt from Thucydides' comments in the
previous book that post-Periclean Athens declined because of the inghting and attering rhetoric of this equipe (2.65.10).
Thucydides makes no explicit appraisal of Cleon's and Diodotus'
speeches. As I have already noted, he does introduce Cleon as `the
most violent of the citizens and by far the most persuasive of the demos' (3.36.6). And in his second book he has oered his opinion that
post-Periclean politicians competed with each other for supremacy but,
in contrast to Pericles' manifest hegemony, they were always on a par
with each other (2.65.910). This is apparently conrmed by the historian's claim that despite a prevalent mood of leniency prior to the
second debate, Cleon's and Diodotus' speeches were so equal to each
other in force that the demos was as good as equally divided in its
show of hands (3.49.1). Even if Diodotus' speech is only his second
ever delivered to the ecclesia, Thucydides' marking of his ability to be
equal to the demagogue Cleon surely raises a problem for Yunis' condence that Diodotus is not to be viewed as one of the demagogues
whom Thucydides despises.
Aristophanes' representation of Agoracritus in Knights (whom Yunis
invokes as a parallel for a `face-value' assessment of Diodotus) actually
highlights the problem of securely assessing motives of a previously
unheard-of speaker who emerges to challenge the deceptive rhetoric of
established demagogues. Agoracritus certainly appears from nowhere
and apparently transforms the old man Demos, a character who is
clearly an allegorical personication of the Athenian demos. Ago28 Yunis (1996) 92101. Yunis also points to the Protagorean avour of Diodotus' arguments. On this, see also de Romilly (1956) 180239.
29 Yunis (1996) 93.
256
racritus also usurps the Paphlagonian slave (a thinly veiled cipher for
Cleon). But his methods (of trickery, theft and attery, not to mention
his social and sexual background) are marked in the play as identical to
those of Cleon. Indeed the comic premise of the play is that Cleon can
only be defeated by a man who can beat him at his own game.30
Agoracritus' acts of `exposing' Cleon and of `boiling down' Demos
so that he supposedly becomes less manipulable through gratication
and attery are explicitly represented as making the old man grateful,
attentive and loyal to the sausage-seller (13356, 1404f.). Agoracritus
tells the rejuvenated Demos that if he knew what he was like in his
previous incarnation, he would call Agoracritus a god for transforming
him (13378). And Agoracritus does indeed tell Demos how he was
easily deceived by the attering rhetoric of politicians. Demos is
ashamed for his former errors. But Agoracritus then reassures him that
he is not to blame the blame lies with the speakers who deceived him
(134054, 13557). Demos then advocates policies which illustrate his
new-found sense and his rejection of the temptations of short-term
gratication. But Agoracritus rewards him with a well-hung boy to
have sex with. Then he brings out two or three women who personify a
thirty-years peace treaty with Sparta claiming that Cleon has been
hiding them away. Demos checks that he will be allowed to katatriakontouti sai them. This is a coined word which means both `to
thirty yearise up them' and can be etymologised as `to pierce them
three times with a long pole from below' (1391).31 This association between returned peace and sexual gratication is typical of Aristophanic
comedy.32 And it is indisputable that the play was performed when
Cleon was pressing for continuation of the war despite the fact that the
Spartans had recently suered reverses and were oering a peace
treaty.33 But in the context of the Knights where Cleon's deceptive rhet30 See Sommerstein (1981) 2: `At the moment of the sausage-seller's rise to power we are
encouraged to believe that he will rule in the same way as his predecessor, by deception and robbery of the ``Open-Mouthenian'' people (1263), and by malicious prosecution of his political rivals (in which Demosthenes begs to be allowed to assist: 1255
6).' See also Ar. Eq. 12544, where the oracle predicting Agoracritus' rise states that a
sausage-seller will usurp a leather-seller (i.e. Cleon). See also 21119 and 17893. At
26699 Cleon and Agoracritus compete over their skills in shouting, thieving and denunciation. At 844. they compete in counter-accusations of deceiving Demos and
attempt to outdo each other in attering him. At 11511226 they steal from each other
in a competition to satisfy Demos' appetite. The parallels (at the level of imagery as
well as theme) between the Paphlagonian and Agoracritus in terms of their tricks,
rhetoric and low social background are discussed by Edmunds (1987) 137; Bowie
(1993) 548; MacDowell (1995) 89103.
31 See Sommerstein (1981) ad loc. (219).
32 See Gomme (1938); Heath (1987b); Newiger (1980).
33 See Sommerstein (1981) 2.
257
258
tempts to gain favour over and above their rivals (2.65.10). He claims
that one of the consequences of this un-Periclean subordination of
sound arguments to attery and self-interested intrigue is the disaster
of the Sicilian expedition. It is also clear that he regards the conduct of
politics after Pericles as a major cause of Athens' `decline' (2.65.11
13).36 But Aristophanes' unsettling representation of Agoracritus (is
this a new Pericles or a new Cleon in the making?) suggests that
Diodotus' apparent emergence from obscurity is no guarantee that an
Athenian reader could not view him as a manipulative demagogue in
the making.
Given these frames for interpreting Thucydides' representation of
post-Periclean debate, alongside the ironies and countering accusations generated by Cleon and Diodotus' speeches it seems impossible
to sustain a `face-value' attribution of sincerity and good motives to
Diodotus' speech. And I hope that the preceding analysis has shown
that the impossibility or diculty of feeling secure about either Cleon
or Diodotus' motives and advice is achieved through the combination
of their substantive arguments and the ironies generated by their
countering strategies of anti-rhetoric. Thucydides seals this response of
uncertainty and insecurity by signalling the self-interested and corrupt
quality of post-Periclean debate and by refusing to provide any clear
approval or endorsement for either speaker. For Thucydides, `the
rhetoric of anti-rhetoric' is both a symptom and a cause of the postPericlean democracy's decline. And while we would expect a writer
who was out of sympathy with radical democracy to present a negative
image of its decision-making process, it is noteworthy that he does so
by inculcating a sense of irony and insecurity in the reader. In this
respect, Thucydides shares his technique (if not his outlook) with
Aristophanes and Euripides.
`Trust me, I'm a comedian!' Aristophanes' Acharnians
My brief discussion of Aristophanes' Knights as a play which can usefully frame Thucydides' Mytilenean debate suggests a need to explore
other comedies' uses and representations of a rhetoric of anti-rhetoric.
A complete exploration cannot be conducted here. But there is one
comedy in which the Aristophanic concern to `think with' deception
and rhetoric in the democracy is particularly acute. It may be no accident that this play, Acharnians, has become the focus of intense critical
36 See Yunis (1996) 6772.
259
disagreement: it is dicult to interpret in itself and its form and content make it the text most often referred to in more general arguments
over the extent to which Aristophanic comedy had a `serious' political
role to play in the Athenian democracy.37 Recent studies of (and disputes about) this play have focused on the diculty of determining the
morality of its main character's autarchy and the justice of his rhetorical arguments, not to mention the slippery tropes of the `authorial
voice' which Aristophanes playfully inserts.38 In this section I want to
discuss the play's provocation of reection and uncertainty through its
representation of rhetorical advocacy as a process of theatrical consultation, disguise and deception. This will also involve analysis of its
characters' appropriations of anti-rhetorical topoi and their association
with the play's metactional or metatheatrical themes.39
The protagonist of Acharnians is called Dicaeopolis. His name is not
revealed until line 406 but it is signicant because it is a compound of
the words `just' and `city'. It is impossible to know quite what this
compound name means: it could be `just towards the city' or `having a
just city' or `making the city just'.40 Dicaeopolis appears at the beginning of the play in a disgruntled mood. He is waiting alone for a
meeting of the ecclesia though (signicantly) it is not at rst clear where
he is or what he is waiting for. Having expressed antipathy for Cleon
and delight at (either a real or theatrical) come-uppance at the hands of
the Knights (58), he goes through the various poets whose performances have vexed him (917).41 Up to this point, the audience might
37 Discussions which enlist Acharnians for various `serious' or `political' readings of
Aristophanes: de Ste Croix (1972) appendix 29; Cartledge (1990b) 548; Henderson
(1990), (1993); Hubbard (1991); MacDowell (1983), (1995). Various forms of denial
of seriousness or `serious eects': Gomme (1938); Halliwell (1984), (1993); Heath
(1987a), (1990), (1997). See also Goldhill (1991) 188201, for a reading of Acharnians
which seeks to collapse the `serious'/`unserious' polarity.
38 For a avour of these disputes, with good analyses and further bibliography, see Bowie
(1982); Bowie (1988); Foley (1988); Cartledge (1990b) 548; Goldhill (1991) 176201;
MacDowell (1995) 4779.
39 Some of these appropriations were actually highlighted a long time ago by Murphy
(1938) although his commentary on them is limited. Foley (1988) has argued that the
play's meta-theatrical deployment of tragedy's resources is linked to reection on the
process of rhetorical communication and the possibilities of deceptive communication
in the Athenian democracy. See also Goldhill (1991) 188201. On Aristophanes' persistent concern with disguise and theatricality see Muecke (1977) and Zeitlin (1981).
40 On Dicaeopolis' name, see MacDowell (1983) 162, n. 37, (1995) 789; Goldhill (1991)
184.
41 For the attractive possibility that Dicaeopolis is referring to Aristophanes' own attack
on Cleon in his Babylonians, see Slater (1993) 398. On the play's subsequent reference
to Babylonians see below pp. 2634. On the inconclusive evidence that lines 58 refer
to a real legal or political set-back for Cleon see Sommerstein (1981) ad loc.
260
think that Dicaeopolis is waiting for a play to begin.42 But it then becomes clear that he is on the Pnyx. The lateness of everyone's arrival
for the ecclesia is what really vexes Dicaeopolis: `that there shall be
peace they don't care a jot' (267). He tells us that he is `absolutely
prepared to shout, interrupt and abuse these speakers (rhetoras) if anyone speaks on any topic other than peace' (389). Dicaeopolis wants
the war with Sparta to end.
When a herald appears and the ecclesia nally convenes, Dicaeopolis
is frustrated to discover that peace will not be on the agenda. A character called Amphitheus arrives, claiming to be immortal and to have
been entrusted by the gods with the task of securing peace with the
Spartans (4653). He is summarily silenced and ejected by a herald
despite Dicaeopolis' protests that the presiding Prytaneis do an injustice to the ecclesia by arresting a man who is prepared to make peace for
Athens (5460). The herald then announces the arrival of Athenian
ambassadors returning from negotiations with the king of Persia.
Dicaeopolis immediately signals that these ambassadors may not
be entirely straight with the ecclesia by saying that he is tired of their
alazoneumata (acqomai . . . alazoneumasin: 623). When one of the
ambassadors starts to recount the luxurious lifestyle they have been
`forced' to lead (at Athens' expense) in the Persian court, he again
bewails their alazoneumata (87). This noun, meaning `impostures' or
`false pretensions' and its cognate verb are often used (along with the
more common noun alazon: `impostor') to denote deceptive sophistry
in Aristophanes, Plato and Xenophon.43 Dicaeopolis also draws attention to the lavish clothing of the ambassadors (obviously corrupted by
Persian luxury): `Ectabana, what a get-up' (64). Here he uses the word
schema for their appearance or `get-up'. This term can mean `theatrical
costume' in Aristophanes.44 But (as we saw in the last chapter) it also
connotes the outward form of what is presented to a viewer in extratheatrical contexts and sometimes carries with it the general implication of `semblance or concealment of true nature'.45 Thus the play's
subsequent association between deceptive self-representation in politics and the techniques of theatrical illusion is established early on.
The ambassador continues to brag about the gastronomic and alcoholic excesses that he and his colleagues have endured in Persia while
Dicaeopolis attempts to gloss their report as making fools out of the
42 On the initial suggestion that Dicaeopolis might be either a theatrical spectator or
waiting for the ecclesia, see Goldhill (1991) 186; Slater (1993) 3989.
43 See Ar. Nub. 102; Xen. Cyr. 2.2.12, Mem. 1.7.5; Pl. Chrm. 173c.
44 See Ar. Eq. 1331, Ran. 463, 523.
45 Goldhill (1999) 4.
261
262
263
264
265
trive delays?' (385). They feel sure that no tragic disguise will mask his
`Sisyphean contrivances' (mechanas tas Sisuphou: 391) because Dicaeopolis' case admits no `plea of evasion' (skepsin: 392). In this context, skepsis has a rich resonance. It is found in tragedy and forensic
oratory with the meaning `pretext' or `excuse'. But it also has more
technical legal senses: it can be used to mean a `plea that one is exempt
or disqualied from performing what would ordinarily be a legal duty,
such as carrying out a compulsory public service (liturgy) . . . or appearing as a defendant on the date named in a summons'.53 The chorus
can thus be seen to characterise Dicaeopolis' use of deception either as
a means of avoiding their accusations altogether or else as a tactical
attempt to claim exemption from public duty. Both characterisations
add to the contemporary forensic avour of the scene, while the latter
force of skepsis implies that Dicaeopolis' defence of his private peace
will resemble liturgy-avoidance. The Acharnian men regard their opponent as a dishonest defaulter in civic duty.
Dicaeopolis decides that he must visit the tragic playwright Euripides
in order to equip himself for his defence. It transpires that Dicaeopolis
will not only use the ragged costume of the disguised Euripidean Telephus, but will also purloin or adapt lines from this tragic character's
own speech of self-justication. Dicaeopolis quotes from the Telephus
as he explains his needs to Euripides:
`For this day I must seem to be a beggar,
Be who I am and yet appear not so.'
The audience must know who I am, but the chorus must stand there like fools,
so that I can give them the long nger with my neat little utterances (rhematiois). (Aristophanes Acharnians 4404)
Here, Dicaeopolis makes it clear that he wishes to deceive the Acharnians. The Euripidean Telephus' adoption of a beggar's disguise to
defend his past actions before an internal audience of Greeks is a very
appropriate model of deceptive communication for Dicaeopolis and
this appropriateness has been well discussed by critics.54 The disguise
of a tragic gure (himself in disguise) who defends the Trojans to the
Greeks bets the situation of Dicaeopolis as a citizen who is trying to
defend his sympathy for his audience's enemy in the face of their hostility. But it also enhances the play's sense of Aristophanes' precarious
position in the face of Cleon's previous attacks. Dicaeopolis says that
53 Sommerstein (1980) 172.
54 See Foley (1988); MacDowell (1995) 538. Bowie (1993) 2732 points out that the
Telephus parody extends beyond the parabasis and is particularly important in Dicaeopolis' exchange with Lamachus at Ach. 10941234.
266
the play's audience must know who `he' is while the chorus are deceived. Dicaeopolis has identied himself with the `voice' of the comic
poet but it is not entirely clear `who' this character is beneath the tragic
disguise: is he Dicaeopolis the farmer, Dicaeopolis the representative
of comedy, Dicaeopolis the cipher for a seriously aggrieved Aristophanes . . . ? The protection of disguise is further bolstered through the
adoption of the mask of tragic parody a parody which itself involves
the adoption of deception and disguise.
As Foley and other critics have pointed out, it is signicant that the
speech which Dicaeopolis will make is purloined from Euripides'
storeroom of tragic speeches and characters: `by linking his comedy
and Euripidean tragedy . . . [Aristophanes] claims for it the moral
authority, literary prestige and latitude that audiences have always
given to more pretentious genres'.55 At the beginning of the speech,
Dicaeopolis again addresses the role of comedy within civic aairs:
Be not indignant with me, members of the audience, if though a beggar, I
speak before the Athenians about the polis in a comedy (trugoidian). Trugoidia
too knows about justice (to dikaion). And what I have to say will be shocking,
but it will be just. This time Cleon will not allege that I am slandering the polis
in the presence of foreigners; for we are by ourselves and it's the Lenaean
competition . . . (Aristophanes Acharnians 497504)
267
268
269
Here, Aristophanes draws a parallel between the function of his comedy and Dicaeopolis' role as an exposer of attery and fraudulence in
the play's opening scene. The chorus go on to argue that Aristophanes
had shown `what democracy meant for the peoples of the allied states'
(642). This suggests that Aristophanes had dealt with the nature of
democratic government in the cities of the Athenian empire in Babylonians. That play may also have contained a scene which was similar
to the opening scene of Acharnians with the dierence that it speci-
270
271
272
Dicaeopolis uses deception for dubious ends, the claim that this play
simply celebrates comedy's didactic political role becomes highly dubious too. Dicaeopolis and the parabatic Aristophanes share a rhetoric
of anti-rhetoric. The fact that the audience can see through Dicaeopolis'
deception does help them to detect deception in the ecclesia or lawcourts. It may heighten their awareness and develop their suspicion of
rhetoric in general and the rhetoric of anti-rhetoric in particular. But
Aristophanes the `trugedian' self-consciously raises the possibility that
his comic didactics are also a self-aggrandising strategy of misrepresentation. However many deceptions and disguises are `stripped away'
by the play's protagonist, the manifest deceptiveness of Dicaeopolis
Aristophanes fosters the sense that the comedy itself may be a misrepresentation of these misrepresentations. What if all this `unmasking' of
other people's deceptions is itself a distortion of democratic discourse?
If you leave this play thinking that Aristophanes has taught you to `see
through political frauds', you may be Aristophanes' dupe. The play's
vertiginous staging of anti-rhetorical rhetoric only tells you that an accusation of deception may itself be deceptive. It is all rather unsettling.
Malcolm Heath has also argued that it is impossible to `drive a
wedge' between Dicaeopolis and Aristophanes on the grounds that the
two are associated in the Telephean speech and that this association is
reinforced by the parabasis: `Would it not be reasonable to infer from
this association that Aristophanes' claims on his own behalf deserve as
much scepticism as those made for Dicaeopolis?'70 Quite so, but Heath
puts this argument in the service of an agenda which also has its problems. He rightly maintains that in Acharnians and other plays, we must
always reckon with deception when Aristophanes is laying claim to a
serious and distinctive advisory or didactic role. After all, Aristophanes' chorus and characters often make general claims about the
originality of his comedy (in opposition to that of his rivals) which are
subsequently (and comically) undermined through corresponding enactments of the very sorts of `unoriginal' strategy which have been impugned.71 But (both here and in a subsequent essay) Heath also wishes
to argue that the impossibility of `driving a wedge' between Dicaeopolis and Aristophanes makes it consequently impossible to regard the
Acharnians as either oering serious political advice about the war,
70 Heath (1990) 236.
71 Heath (1990) 237. For this sort of self-undermining irony, see Ar. Nub. 53744 with
12971300, 1490. Aristophanes is particularly audacious when his parabases claim
that he does not recycle material from one play to the next. See Nub. 546 in a play
which is certainly substantially recycled from its rst version and Pax 75160 which
itself repeats Vesp. 102937. On Aristophanes not taking his advisory role seriously see
Halliwell (1984) 1719. On his comic disingenuousness, see Murray (1987).
273
274
275
276
277
82 Noted by Go (1990) 116. It should be pointed out that Theseus' use of theoros primarily means here `a visitor to an oracle'. But the meaning `spectator' would surely
also have a resonance, given that Theseus arrives to hear of his wife's death and then
views the catastrophic spectacle of her corpse wheeled out of the palace doors. On the
visual impact of such revelatory stagecraft see Taplin (1977) 4423. Halleran (1995) on
809 (219) notes the possibility of `grim word play' between dustuches theoros (`unfortunate visitor/spectator') and pikran thean (`bitter sight').
83 Go (1990) 116.
84 For the implications and issues see Bain (1975) who is sceptical about the possibility of
`audience address' in tragedy. See also Taplin (1985), though Taplin (1996) is more
generous.
85 See Goldhill (1988a) 2334; Go (1990) 389, 7880; Lloyd (1992) 32, 468. Mills
(1997) 215 points out that Theseus may use legal language but he `perverts forensic
practice': he has already decided that his son is guilty of the letter's accusations before
Hippolytus makes his defence. His `witnesses' are a corpse and `just a letter'. Hippolytus certainly feels that he has been banished before a proper trial (10556): `Without
examining (elegxas) oath or pledge or the words of prophets, will you throw me out of
this land without a trial (akriton).'
278
Critics vary in their interpretation as to whether these words are specically directed against Hippolytus, who has shown him no previous
indications of base intent, or more generally express the diculty of
determining which `of those dear to him, either his son or his wife, is
false and counterfeit'.86 There has also been much discussion as to
what Theseus means by the `two voices'.87 What they do express is a
desire for a distinguishable and transparent form of true speech to
supplement the always potentially deceptive voice which mortals normally employ. In her study of the Hippolytus, Barbara Go points out
that the lack of transparency which Theseus bemoans `can be seen in
linguistic events such as Phaidra's letter, or the gulf between word and
intent which Hippolytus threatens when he tells the Nurse that his
tongue swore but his mind remains unsworn (612)'.88 Theseus' second
transparent voice is an impossibility (the rhetorical and literary trope of
the adunaton); `there is no point at which language can achieve such an
identity with the world as would exclude the possibilities of ction. The
``deviations'' that Theseus seeks to abolish are the very conditions of
the existence of language'.89 And she goes on to produce an interesting
reading of the play's dramatisation of the ways in which both desire
and language `introduce disruptive dierences and thwart human
longings for stability and containment'.90 Of course, Theseus mistakenly and ironically believes the written voice of the suicide letter and
its absent author as opposed to the living voice of Hippolytus. He fails
to apply his insight into the potential ction of his son's spoken evidence to the written evidence of his dead wife.
Jones notes the `unconsciously ironical' avour to Theseus' words
he is falsely accusing Hippolytus almost at the very moment in which
86
87
88
89
279
he discourses on the impossibility of identifying liars.91 He also describes these words as `the nearest approach to a characteristic attitude
in this most diverse writer' because, as I noted in the last chapter,
Euripides' tragedies contain several similar reections on the impossibility of distinguishing truth and trustworthiness from deception and
faithlessness or else the diculty of determining someone's moral
character because of misleading external evidence. I will examine some
of these similar instances because they provide an important frame for
reading Theseus' wish for transparency and the Hippolytus' agon as a
whole.
Theseus' words seem to have been carried over from a similar formulation in the rst version of the Hippolytus, though we can only
speculate that the speaker and context were the same:
Alas, alas, that the facts ( pragmata) have no voice for humans, so that those
who are clever at speaking (deinoi legein) would be nothing. But as things are,
they conceal (literally `steal': kleptousin) with glib tongues (literally `wide
mouths': eurooisin stomasi ) what is truest (alethestata), so that what ought to
appear to be so (dokein) does not. (Euripides Fragment 439 [ N Barrett])92
Wherever these lines appeared in the rst version, they actually connect the adunaton of a transparent `second voice' with the specic discourse of rhetoric.93 The speaker uses the same gloss for rhetorical skill
(deinos legein) which we saw deployed in forensic orations of the late
fth and fourth century. But they also oer an image of truth being
`stolen' by rhetoric, as if it were a physical commodity. In the place of
truth rhetoric leaves no room for `what ought to appear so' (ha chre
dokein). Here, Euripides' speaker stresses that rhetoric is in the business of establishing to dokein or doxa: `appearance', `seeming' or
`opinion'.
The connection between the eects of deceptive communication and
the mortal condition of doxa is vehemently made in Euripides' Andromache. When Menelaus announces that he intends to kill Androm91 Jones (1962) 252.
92 The translation here is that of Halleran (1995) 30 with my own literal translations in
parentheses.
93 Halleran (1995) 27 calls f 439 `a lament over clever rhetoric'. The lines could well be
Theseus' initial response to Hippolytus' self-defence speech in the rst play's agon. See
Eur. Hipp. 103840. But they could also be part of Hippolytus' proem: see Eur. Hipp.
9869. Given that the rst version probably included a direct confrontation between
Phaedra and Hippolytus, the lines could be the latter's response to the former. They
could even be Phaedra's response to the Nurse's arguments in favour of breaking her
silence and approaching Hippolytus: see Eur. Hipp. 670f.
280
ache and her child, the heroine replies with an outburst on the subject
of false appearances and undeserved reputation:
w doxa doxa, muri oisi dh brotwn
oude n gegwsi bi oton wgkwsav me gan.
[eukleia d' oiv me n e st' alhqei av upo
eudaimoni zw touv d' upo yeudwn e cein
ouk axiwsw, plhn tuch jronei n dokei n.]
su dh strathgwn logasin Ellhnwn pote
Troi an ajei lou Pri amon, wde jaulov wn;
ostiv qugatrov anti paidov e k logwn
tosond' e pneusav kai gunaiki dustucei
doulh kate sthv ei v agwn' ouk axiw
out' oun se Troi av oute sou Troi an e ti.
[e xwqe n ei sin oi dokountev eu jronei n
lamproi , ta d' e ndon pasin anqrwpoiv i soi,
plhn ei ti ploutw touto d' i scuei me ga.]
Reputation! Reputation (o doxa doxa)! You do indeed pu up countless nobodies to greatness. [Those who have fame by truth I congratulate; but those
by falsehoods (hupo pseudon), I will not consider that they have, except by
chance to seem wise ( phronein dokein).] Was it really you, who are so petty,
who once led the chosen men of Greece and seized Troy from Priam? You,
who breathed such rage as a result of the words of your child-like daughter, and
entered into a contest with an unfortunate slave-woman: I no longer regard you
as worthy of Troy, or Troy of you. [Those who have the reputation of being
wise (hoi dokountes eu phronein) are outwardly illustrious, but inwardly the same
as everybody else; except perhaps in wealth; that has great power.] (Euripides
Andromache 31932)94
281
dromache `emphasises the gap between the true and the false, appearance and reality, and the great diculty of distinguishing between
them'.96 But the terms in which Andromache formulates her critique of
indiscriminate doxa are important for the play's negotiations of political representation.97
Andromache's remarks on doxa, with its connotations of seeming,
appearance, repute, belief and opinion, bear resemblances to the concerns of Eleatic and sophistic thought which I discussed in my third
chapter.98 The writings of Parmenides and Gorgias both stress that
mortals suer from the possession of incomplete knowledge; they are
conned to the realm of doxa.99 Andromache is specically discussing
the realm of opinion in relation to the attribution of positive kleos to
men in general and Menelaus in particular. She does not address the
possibilities or impossibilities of absolute knowledge per se. Like Parmenides, however, she claims for herself a level of enlightenment when
she implies that she can discern the dierence between truly and falsely
earned eukleia.
For the sophist Gorgias, the positive and negative charming eects of
linguistic and visual representations are due primarily to the vulnerable
condition of doxa in which mortals nd themselves. In his ironic Encomium of Helen, Gorgias lays particular emphasis on the persuasive
power that logos, especially false logos, exerts over mankind because
96
97
98
99
an idea following on from the contrast in 3301, since wealth can hardly be counted as
among ta e ndon. To make 3302 cohere as one interpolation, Stevens glosses 332 as
`it's only in wealth (which is external) that they dier'. But Andromache's sarcastic
point is precisely that wealth instils great strength and power (touto d' i scuei me ga:
332). If Menelaus' glory is supercial in that it derives from a false reputation, he is
nevertheless not `equal' to other men because he still has the wealth which gives him
power over others. And such reections on the workings of wealth are not simply `on
the same lines as 31923' since these previous lines do not address the separate issue of
the way in which money confers power and hierarchy regardless of moral legitimacy or
genuine reputation. Furthermore, this separate issue is hardly an anomalous theme for
the play; Andromache's comments in these disputed lines can be related to the exchanges and representations concerning wealth in her earlier confrontation with Hermione.
Boulter (1966) 55.
It could also be argued that Andromache's critique of doxa and Menelaus' eukleia also
introduces a questioning of poetic and specically Homeric representations of the
past. This questioning of Homer is perhaps developed by Peleus' attack on Menelaus'
military conduct at 61618. For Euripidean interrogation of Homeric tradition in
other plays see Walsh (1984) 10726; Goldhill (1988a).
I can nd no specic discussion of this speech's engagement with pre-Socratic or sophistic ideas. For the connection between ideas expressed elsewhere in the play by
Hermione and Andromache and the texts of Gorgias and Antiphon, see Sad (1978)
2519.
See Parmenides DK 18 b1, b6 and b19; Gorg. Hel. 1114 ( DK 82 b11.1114), Pal.
2435 ( DK 82 b11a.2435).
282
nobody has certain knowledge or memory. Most have only doxa (belief ) to rely on and yet, as Gorgias puts it, `doxa, being slippery and
unreliable, brings slippery and unreliable success to those who employ
it'.100 Among his examples of persuasive logoi which mould the mind
are poetry and the `compulsory contests in which a single speech
pleases and persuades a large crowd, because written with skill, not
spoken with truth'.101 His reections have started from the premise that
Helen may have gone to Troy with Paris because `speech persuaded
and deceived her mind'.102 Critics disagree as to whether Gorgias sees
all speech as a kind of apate.103 It is clear, however, that he represents
the condition of belief and opinion as rendering the human soul extremely vulnerable to misrepresentations and deceptive persuasion. As
we have seen already, he even compares the power of speech to the
power that drugs have on the body: `some speeches cause sorrow, some
cause pleasure, some cause fear, some give hearers condence, some
drug and bewitch the mind with a certain evil persuasion'.104
Like Gorgias, Andromache connects the operation of lies (touv d'
upo yeudwn e cein ouk axiwsw) and the eects of doxa (w doxa doxa,
muri oisi dh brotwn oude n gegwsi bi oton wgkwsav me gan).105 She goes
on to question the very possibility that one so base as Menelaus could
have led those who took Troy from Priam (su dh strathgwn logasin
Ellhnwn pote Troi an ajei lou Pri amon wde jaulov wn;). The implication is that Menelaus' political and military power are founded on a lie.
Comparison with Gorgias' Encomium of Helen suggests that the terms
in which she formulates the dissemination of that false reputation are
recognisable from a specically late fth-century discourse on the
100 Gorg. Hel. 11 ( DK 82 b11.11): h de doxa sjalera kai abe baiov ousa sjalerai v kai
abebai oiv eutuci aiv periballei touv auth crwme nouv.
101 Gorg. Hel. 13: deuteron de touv anagkai ouv dia logwn agwnav, e n oiv eiv logov polun
oclon e terye kai e peise te cnh grajei v, ouk alhqei a lecqei v.
102 Gorg. Hel. 8: Ei de logov o pei sav kai thn yuchn apathsav . . .
103 Discussions of Gorgias' theory of apate and doxa: Detienne (1967) 121.; Guthrie
(1971) 1929; Kerferd (1981a), ch. 8; Rosenmeyer (1955); Segal (1962); Untersteiner
(1954) 10839; Verdenius (1981). MacDowell (1982) 1216, takes issue with Verdenius' view that Gorgias sees all speech as involving apate.
104 Gorg. Hel. 14 ( DK 82 b11.14): wsper gar twn jarmakwn allouv alla cumouv e k
tou swmatov e xagei, kai ta me n nosou ta de bi ou pauei, outw kai twn logwn oi me n
e luphsan, oi de e teryan oi de e jobhsan, oi de ei v qarsov kate sthsan touv akouontav, oi
de peiqoi tini kakh thn yuchn e xejarmakeusan kai e gohteusan.
105 Gorgias was from Leontini in Sicily but evidence suggests that he became a familiar
gure in Athens. According to Diodorus 12.53 he was sent as an envoy to Athens in
427. See Thuc. 3.86. Plato's Gorgias represents him as a well-known and muchadmired teacher of rhetoric. Engagement with Gorgianic style and ideas has been detected in other plays of Euripides. See Scodel (1980) 94104; Walsh (1984) 62132;
Goldhill (1988a) 2368; Croally (1994) 2223.
283
power of languages (including the language of legal and political rhetoric) to shape belief through its (mis)representations.
Theseus' wish for transparency in the second Hippolytus contains no
specic reference to `clever speaking' or the slipperiness of doxa. But
the presence of these concerns in the rst Hippolytus and the Andromache shows how Euripidean tragedy repeatedly represents the problematic `ambiguity of speech' as signicantly exacerbated by `sophistic'
and `rhetorical' discourse. Of course, such anti-rhetorical reection
does not translate into an `anti-rhetorical' message for a play as a
whole. In Euripides' Hecuba, there is a tense agon between the play's
heroine and Polymestor. Hecuba and the Trojan women have killed
Polymestor's children and blinded him. They lured him to their tents
at Troy in order to take revenge on him for killing Hecuba's son Polydorus. Polymestor seeks Hecuba's punishment at the hands of Agamemnon. He gives a speech of self-defence in which he claims that he
did not kill Polydorus for gold (as Hecuba alleges) but in order to destroy an enemy of the Greeks. Hecuba's speech in reply opens with an
anti-rhetorical ourish:
Agamemnon, men never ought to have a tongue more powerful than their
deeds; rather, just as a man ought to speak nobly if he acted nobly, so, conversely his words should ring false (tous logous einai sathrous) if he has done
wicked things, and he should never be able to speak well (eu legein) about
wrong-doing. Now there are indeed clever men (sophoi ) who do that to precision, but they cannot be clever all through, and they meet a miserable end; no
one has escaped yet. (Euripides Hecuba 118794)
284
285
Like Theseus, Medea wishes for tekmeria. The word tekmerion can be
used in Athenian forensic oratory to mean `proof ' of an argumentative
kind (as opposed to direct evidence).111 Antiphon opposes tekmerion to
arguments from probability (eikota) but also speaks of tekmeria which
are not probable (2.4.10, 4.4.2). It need not have a specically forensic
avour: it can simply mean a denite `sign' or `token', a sure medical
symptom or, in Aristotelian logic a demonstrative proof as opposed to
a fallible semeion or probability argument (eikos).112 Medea clearly uses
tekmerion in the context of a monetary metaphor: unlike coins, human
bodies display no stamp (charakter) to guarantee moral goodness.
Given that Hippolytus has already used the language of monetary
debasement to describe women (kibdelon kakon: 619), critics have seen
Theseus' wish for `clear tekmeria' as a further deployment of the
`counterfeit coin' metaphor.113 Theseus certainly directs his comments
towards the specic question of how to distinguish between true and
false philoi. This question is couched in monetary terms in the aristocratic elegy of the Theognidea (640479 bc). In the paranoid world of
the Theognidean symposium and polis, it is best not to reveal one's
intentions to philoi because few are trustworthy (734).114 Theognis
stresses that nothing is more dicult to know than the real nature of a
kibdelos (`counterfeit') man (11718). And the counterfeit philos who
deceives your mind has to be tested out like an animal (11928). Because people conceal their counterfeit character (kibdelon ethos) it is
best not to praise a man until you truly know him (96370). In a couplet which strongly pregures Andromache's remarks discussed above,
Theognis also points out that doxa (reputation) is inferior to experience
( peira) concerning a man's character (5712). It is also wise to be deceptive and cunning oneself (35964) and to have a `variegated character' ( poikilon ethos) among one's philoi (21314, 10712). Whether or
not we see Theseus' `second voice' speech as reliant on the metaphor
of `debased coinage', he clearly speaks in the Theognidean mode of the
paranoid sententia. Indeed, his words are similar to an Attic drinkingsong preserved by Athenaeus:
Would that, to see what sort of man each is, we could open up his breast, and
look at his mind (noun) then locking it up once more, regard him surely as our
friend. (Athenaeus Deipnosophistae 694de [ PMG 889])
111 See Isoc. 4.12, 8.6.
112 Sign or token: Hdt. 2.13; Aesch. Ag. 1366; Soph. El. 774, 1109; [Eur.] Rh. 94. Medical symptom: Hipp. Prog. 25, Sor. Vit. Hippocr. 12; Aristotelian proof: Arist. Pr.
70b2, Rh. 1.1357b4, 2.1402b19.
113 See Go (1990) 45; DuBois (1991) 1314.
114 See the excellent analyses of Levine (1985); Cobb-Stevens (1985); Ferrari (1988).
286
Of course, in aping the aristocratic and suspicious sententiae of Theognis and sympotic songs, Euripides' Theseus might be regarded as unsympathetic to a democratic audience: on reading Phaedra's letter he is
too quick to nd authority for his rst conclusions in the maxims of
elitist poetic tradition and the culture of aristocratic and oligarchic
faction.115 It is certainly poignant that Theseus' recognition of the difculty of detecting false friends and deception tragically misses the
right target. Mills has recently noted that the Theseus of Hippolytus is
much more tyrannical in word and action than the Theseus of other
extant Euripidean tragedies.116
But at the same time as an Athenian audience see their mythical king
at a greater distance in this play, his bitter plea for transparency conveys a problem which was very close to their own situation as democratic citizens. As with many of the other Euripidean, Theognidean
and sympotic sententiae which I have discussed, Theseus longs for truth
and falsehood to have a distinguishable and demonstrable materiality.
If only words and faces could be like coins or pots, then we could distinguish honesty and moral integrity from falsity and deception. Here,
through his ironic comments and his mistaken interpretation of the
scene which confronts him, Theseus articulates the inescapable problem posed by deception in a forensic context. Speech, writing and
rhetoric may have an `independent materiality' with the power to bewitch, persuade, deceive and ultimately destroy. Go notes the many
instances in the Hippolytus where spoken and written words are represented as having a negative material force.117 But the sophistic celebration or anti-rhetorical condemnation of this materiality cannot
resolve the fact that words are not amenable to the same tests as certain
material objects. In a crucial respect, the play highlights deceptive
communication's lack of materiality as an insurmountable problem. As
a spectator, accuser and judge Theseus' predicament in the face of
such immaterial lies mirrored that of an Athenian audience as they
viewed, judged or themselves became litigants in the people's courts.
The representation of rhetorical argument in the agon between Hippolytus and Theseus exacerbates the disturbing ramications of Theseus' failure to uncover the truth for an Athenian audience. As I noted
at the beginning of this section, Hippolytus produces a defence full of
rhetorical ourishes. He will not break his oath to the Nurse and so is
115 As Figuera and Nagy (1985) 1 point out, Theognis was imitated in the elegies of
Critias (leader of the Thirty Tyrants at Athens) and was also the subject of treatises
and citations by the likes of Antisthenes, Xenophon and Plato.
116 Mills (1997) 195.
117 See Go (1990) 54 for discussion and references.
287
288
289
290
291
sises the vulnerability of the demos to deception by highlighting comedy's own dissembling rhetoric, the Knights invites its democratic
audience to consider its own manipulative power as both a mark of
ultimate sovereignty and a dangerous delusion. Thucydides' portrayal
probably had a very dierent impact: his representation of deceptive
democratic rhetoric and counter-rhetoric may well have fuelled the
development of anti-democratic dissent and critique which emerged
in the writings of Plato and Aristotle. In this sense, the problem of
deceptive communication in the democracy (and the discursive scrutiny of that problem which that democracy's institutions allowed)
contributed to the birth of Western political thought. One wonders
whether political thought will ever resolve the problems which deception poses for democracy.
Epilogue
Among today's adept practitioners, the lie has long since lost its honest function of misrepresenting reality.1
Athenian democratic culture sought to locate deceit elsewhere; for example in the upbringing, political organisation and military customs of
the Spartan enemy. According to the Athenian imaginary, the Spartans
exhibited and promoted a category of communication and behaviour which ran counter to the lineaments of hoplite excellence and inherent excellence. At the same time however, we have seen that the
Athenian representation of military deceit was always open to public
re-negotiation and anxious theoretical consideration of its problematic
social and ethical connotations and consequences. It seems that the
ideology of `la belle mort' could countenance the welding of metis and/
or apate to ideal hoplite agency. Thus Vidal-Naquet's inuential description of apate has to be framed with a much more nuanced model
of deceit's negotiability in public projections of identity and ideal military endeavour.
The problematisation of military trickery at Athens perhaps stems
from the way in which the city puts deceit to work ideologically. The
Athenian is to dene himself in opposition to the enemy who is `other'
because that enemy trains and prepares for military deceit. How is this
opposition to be maintained if the `ideal' Athenian citizen entertains
such training himself ? Only the ephebe can do this temporarily. And
yet the need to entertain military deceit did become more pressing
because of the changed operational demands thrown up by the Peloponnesian War. Thus the negotiability of military trickery becomes less
surprising.
A discourse of `othering' is also apparent in the orators' strategies
of anti-rhetoric and self-authorisation. The democracy has to be, as
1 Theodor Adorno, Minima Moralia: reections from a damaged life, cited in Norris (1992)
5.
292
Epilogue
293
294
Epilogue
Epilogue
295
296
Epilogue
makes the threats and opportunities of deception a fundamental concern for democratic citizenship.
To my mind, the problems posed by deception for modern democracy are not given a discursive focus comparable to that which I have
traced for Athenian culture. To be sure, our news media report and
comment on scandals and `spin'. But there is little public discussion or
imaginative representation of the morality and mechanisms of deceit in
politics, law, business or education. However, certain episodes bring
deception to the fore of public consciousness: `Iran-Contra', `Watergate', `Lewinsky', the Scott Inquiry, `Cash for Questions' and so on.
These sorts of episodes are often the source of much fruitful investigative journalism and politically charged academic analysis. One
thinks of Arendt on the Pentagon papers, Eco on Nixon's face, Pilger
on British and American lies and hypocrisy from Vietnam to the present day and Chomsky on the `manufacturing of consent' through the
media's complicity with government.3 One also thinks of the way in
which the politics of representing reality to electorates has become a
focus for critical theoretical debates about the relationship between
representation and reality per se. The way in which the lead-up to the
Gulf War was beamed into our living rooms prompted Baudrillard to
make the now infamous claim that the war would not take place.4 Once
it had taken place, he maintained that it hadn't really.5 For Baudrillard,
the machinery of `war games rhetoric', Public Relations and media
manipulation meant it made no sense to think of the Gulf War as real.
There was simply no way in which this war could be veried. This
claim caused something of a storm except, perhaps, in the places
where Desert Storm had left families in no doubt as to the truth of the
war's eects. Baudrillard saw the war as demonstrating that the Western powers' hold on the way in which we receive information was now
so complete that we had no way of being able to distinguish reality
from simulations of reality. In short, everything had become unveriable: everything was now equally true or equally false. It was an act of
stupidity to uphold a distinction between truth and falsehood at all.
Baudrillard's claims were in many ways obscene. But they prompted
some Western intellectuals to discuss the implications of living in a
world where the `truth' is so very hard to establish with certainty. While
3 See Arendt (1972); Eco (1985); Pilger (1994); Herman and Chomsky (1988); Chomsky
(1987), (1989).
4 Jean Baudrillard, `The Reality Gulf ', The Guardian, 11 January 1991.
5 Jean Baudrillard, `La guerre du Golfe n'a pas eu lieu', Liberation, 29 March 1991.
Epilogue
297
298
Epilogue
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Bibliography
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Index locorum
Aelian
Variae Historiae
2.8: 183 n.132
Aeneas Tacticus
Poliorketika
1122: 99 n.48
Aeschines
1.23: 63, 63 n.123
1.257: 104
1.125: 212, 212 n.32
1.12730: 228
1.141: 176 n.105
1.173: 35 n.52, 214
1.1756: 212, 212 n.32, 214
1.178: 270 n.65
2.9: 47 n.85
2.345: 225, 225 n.62
2.36: 223 n.55
2.56: 207
2.78: 50 n.91
2.124: 213, 213 n.33, 270 n.65
2.153: 213, 213 n.33, 2312, 270 n.65
2.1568: 226, 226 nn.634
2.157: 207
2.167: 100 n.55
2.177: 270 n.65
2.178: 163 n.72
3.911: 234
3.1112: 235
3.16: 212, 212 n.32
3.20: 223 n.55
3.979: 232, 270 n.65
3.137: 213, 213 n.33
3.168: 216
3.16975: 217
3.1712: 50 n.91
3.181: 46, 46 n.84
3.183: 172, 172 n.198
3.202: 212, 212 n.32
3.207: 213, 213 n.33
3.2289: 211, 225, 225 n.62
3.234: 270 n.65
3.259: 46 n.84
Aeschylus
Agamemnon
3856: 170 n.90
914: 70 n.147
1366: 285, 285 n.112
14557: 79 n.169
Choephoroi
220: 70
726: 171, 171 n.92
Persians
91114: 108 n.74
92: 107
3602: 61 n.88, 107, 108 n.74
378: 76 n.161
472f.: 108, n.74
74450: 108 n.74
1005.: 108 n.74
Fragments
fr. 3012: 107 n.68, 143, 143 n.2
fr. 373: 70
Aetius
De Placitis Reliquiae
1.6.7: 180, 180 n.116
7.2: 180, 180 n.116
Alcidamas
Fragments
15.1134: 210 n.27
Anaximenes
Ars Rhetorica
36.37 (p.88, 35): 210, 210 n.26
36.37(p.88, 510): 210, 210 n.27
36.3940 (p.88, 1420): 210
36.42 (p.89, 48): 211
Andocides
1.31: 63, 63 n.123
1.69: 230
1.74: 163 n.70
3.334: 83, 111, 152, 16970
4.7:208, 208 n.17
Anonymous authors
Anonymus Iamblichi
321
322
Index locorum
497504: 266
50739: 266
63342: 269
6345: 218, 218 n.41
64458: 270
6809: 268
1471: 267 n.61
Clouds (Nub.)
102: 260 n.43
11218: 235 n.83
355: 261 n.47
53744: 272 n.71
627888: 35 n.52
888f.: 235 n.83
944: 267
12971300: 272 n.71
1490.: 272 n.71
Frogs (Ran.)
463: 260, 260 n.44
523: 260,260 n.44
Knights (Eq.)
105: 213 n.33
125.: 158 n.56, 256
17893: 256 n.30
21119: 256 n.30
26699: 256 n.30
378: 2634, 264 n.52
385: 2645
38892: 80, n.173, 264 n.52, 265
7631110: 218, 218 n.41
81019: 81, n.176
844.: 256 n.30
927.: 158 n.56
10941234: 265
111120: 289
112530: 289
113555: 28990
114150: 289
11511226: 256 n.30
12556: 256 n.30
1263: 256 n.30
126571: 24 n.12
1331: 260, 260 n.44
13358: 256
13404: 218, 218 n.41
134054: 256
13734: 261, 261 n.47
1391: 256
1404f.: 256
1405: 290 n.119
Lysistrata
7: 223 n.55
6289: 378, 38 n.66
630: 70 n.146
12335: 31 n.39
Peace (Pax)
619f.: 38 n.68
Index locorum
622: 171 n.92
75160: 272 n.71
1063: 31 n.39
1066: 38 n.68
Thesmophoriazusae
275: 267 n.61
295372: 634, 63 n.123
325: 261 n.47
3358: 63
3434: 64
574654: 261 n.47
689761: 263 n.50
Wasps (Vesp.)
101: 171 n.92
102937: 272 n.71
1093.: 24 n.12
Wealth (Plut.)
571: 213 n.33
Fragment
fr. 407: 261 n.47
Aristotle
Politics
2.1271b26: 37, 37 n.63, 133
5.1310b36: 92 n.31
7.1333b1121: 37, 37 n.63, 133
8.1338b1119: 37, 37 n.63, 133
8.1338b12: 37, 133
8.1338b2932: 37, 37 n.64
8.1338b2936: 133
Physiognomics
3: 225, 225 n.60
Problems
70b2: 285, 285 n.112
Rhetoric
1.1355b17: 3 n.12
1.1355b1821: 219, 219 n.43
1.1355b39f.: 59 n.120
1.1357b4: 285, 285 n.112
2.1382b: 220 n.47
2.1399a302: 165 n.74
2.1402a528: 235 n.83
2.1402b19: 285, 285 n.112
3.1403b2035: 207 n.15
3.1403b351404a13: 207 n.15
3.1407b16: 233 n.79
3.1407a324: 233, 233 n.79
3.1408a326: 228, 228 n.71
Sophistical Refutations
172b36173a6: 165 n.74
[Aristotle]
Constitution of the Athenians (Ath. Pol.)
3.3: 95 n.37
8.4: 56 n.113
40: 42 n.76
43.5: 524, 52 nn. 97 & 98, 53 n.100
51.1: 163 n.70
53.6: 56 n.113
323
Cratinus
PCG fr.197: 168 n.87
[Critias]
DK 88 b25: 18088
Democritus
DK 68 a75: 185, 185 n.139
DK 68 b66: 167 n.84
DK 68 b30: 182, 182 n.125, 185, 185 n.139
DK 68 b41, b181, b264: 182, 182 n.125
DK 68 b245: 185, 185 n.138
Demosthenes
3.3: 270 n.65
3.13: 270 n.65
3.214: 270 n.65
6.31: 270 n.65
8.24: 270 n.65
8.34: 270 n.65
9.34: 270 n.65
14.12: 249 n.11
16.3: 270 n.65
18.67: 208, 208 n.17
18.119: 213, 213 n.33
18.129: 207, 207 n.15
18.1301: 50 n.91
18.132: 213, 213 n.33
18.139: 213, 213 n.33
18.171: 81, n.175
18.2045: 47, 47n. 85
18.209: 207, 207 n.15
18.232: 207, 207 n.15, 226, 226 n.63
18.242: 213, 213 n.33
18.2579: 213 n.33
18.2612: 207, 207 n.15
18.27684: 211, 212, 212 n.32, 270 n.65
18.282: 164, 164 n.73, 270 n.65
18.308: 207, 207 n.15, 210 n.25, 225, 225
n.62
18.317: 213, 213 n.33
19.434: 270 n.65
19.701: 63, 63 n.123 & 124
19.120: 229 n.72
19.1826: 1634, 165 n.75
19.1845: 1, 205, 240
19.1856: 2
19.20710: 2367
19.210: 64 n.91, 226
19.24550: 176 n.105, 212, 212 n.32, 214
19.249: 104
19.2525: 105, 210 n.25
19.336: 225, 225 n.62
20.9: 163 n.70
20.1112: 40
20.12: 41f.
20.1314: 435, 164
20.67: 45
20.6775: 45f., 104
324
Index locorum
20.6873: 45
20.734: 46, 46f.
20.100: 52, 52 nn.97 & 98, 55, 613
20.105.: 49
20.107: 63, 63 n.123
20.11215: 172
20.119: 173
20.1345: 45, 613
20. 135: 52, 52 nn.97 & 98, 55
21.1367: 227, 227 n.67
21.1412: 227, 227 n.67
21.149: 50 n.91
21.1912: 20910
21.209: 213, 213 n.33
23.97: 63, 63 n.123
23.145: 270 n.65
23.1858: 270 n.65
23.1968: 47, 47 n.85
23.204: 47 n.85
24.63: 56 n.113
24.124: 64 n.91, 165 n.74
25.803: 213 n.33
25.98: 2212
27.23: 208, 208 n.17
35.403: 216
37.5: 208, 208 n.17
37.526: 226
38.2: 208, 208 n.17
40.534: 228
45.657: 222
45.689: 2223
45.6970: 224
45.77: 226
49.65: 58
49.657: 5861
49.67: 52, 52 nn.97 & 98, 55, 56 n.114, 58
n.118, 5861
54.32.: 226 n.65
57.1: 208, 208 n.17
[Demosthenes]
Preambles
37: 168 n.87
Dinarchus
1.5: 50 n.91
1.30: 222 n.50
1.37: 47, 47 n.85
1.478: 63, 63 nn.123 & 125, 165, 165 n.74
1.66: 213, 213 n.35, 222 n.50
1.919: 270 n.65
1.92: 213, 213 n.35
1.103: 270 n.65
1.11011: 270 n.65
2.16: 63, 63 n.123
2.19: 222 n.50
3.4: 165, 165 n.78
3.67: 165 n.74
Index locorum
854f.: 71 n.148
911: 69
9931008: 66, 66 n.136
1032: 66, 66 n.135
1064: 76
1075: 84, 84 n.135
108596: 66 n.136
10851172: 66
111516: 66 n.136, 767
1123: 77
11256: 66 n.136
1135: 98
1176: 65 n.129
1187: 65 n.129
1211: 65 n.129
12639: 65 n.129
Bacchae
26771: 283 n.106
Cyclops
177f and 280f: 79 n.169
Electra
947: 112
213: 79 n.169
215.: 112
367f.: 240, 240 n.91, 284, 284 n.110
5246: 112
5501: 284
73746: 186
745: 186 n.144
961.: 112 n.85
Hecuba
610: 689, 69 n.143
238: 246 n.169
785904: 283
81419: 284
118794: 283
124051: 283
Heracles Furens (HF)
161.: 25 n.16
65568: 284
Hippolytus
157: 275
4801: 69 n.144
612: 267 n.61, 278
619: 285
670f.: 279 n.93
792: 276
807: 276
809: 277, 277 n.82
917: 277
9204: 277
92531: 278f.
927f.: 240, 240 n.91
9435: 277
9559: 277
96272: 277
325
9745: 276
98391: 287 n.118
9869: 279 n.93, 287
100720: 277, 287
103840: 279 n.93, 287
10556: 277 n.85
10578: 277
10745: 289
1093f.: 276
1152: 223 n.55
11579: 276
Ion
843f.: 69 n.144
Iphigeneia in Aulis (IA)
1260: 76 n.161
Iphigeneia in Tauris (IT )
512: 267 n.61
525: 79 n.169
1032: 69 n.144
Medea
409: 69 n.144
41045: 247, 247 n.7
51519: 240, 240 n.91, 284
Phoenissae
272: 267 n.61
1377: 107, n.72
Suppliant Women
187: 34, 34 n.50, 36
399597: 34 n.49
1064: 283 n.106
Trojan Women (Troad.)
92450: 79, n.170
991f.: 71 n.150
975.: 79 n.169
Fragments
439: 279, 279 n.93
700: 76 n.161
703: 269
1007c: 181 n.122
[Euripides]
Rhesus
94: 285, 285 n.112
51011: 29 n.30, 113 n.86
639: 283 n.106
Sisyphus
TrGF fr.19 (DK 88 b25): 18088
Gorgias
Funeral Speech
DK 82 b6: 27, 27 n.21
Encomium of Helen (Hel.)
DK 82 b11.2: 79 n.169
DK 82 b11.814: 171, 171 n.93, 282, 282
n.101, 284
DK 82 b11.1112: 147, 147 n.27, 170 n.90,
282, 282 n.100
326
Index locorum
3.163: 36 n.56
4.266f.: 74
4.678: 70 n.146
4.739: 70 n.146
8.447: 36 n.56
9.422: 70 n.146
10.330: 35 n.51
11.438: 79 n.169
11.593: 182, 182 n.127
12.21020: 152
13. 293: 36 n.56
14.122f.: 12
14.192: 271 n.67
15.105f.: 36 n.56
19.137: 70 n.146
19.165200: 146 n.20
19.203: 146 n.20
Homeric Hymns
Hymn to Hermes
13: 35 n.51
149: 35 n.51
Hyperides
2.10: 64 n.91
3.14: 163 n.70
4.78: 56 n.113
4.22: 228 n.71
4.27: 81, n.175
4.29: 56 n.113
4.39: 56 n.113
5.17: 165 n.74
5.24: 81, n.175
Fragment
fr. 226: 240
Isaeus
11.635: 57, 57 n.116.
Isocrates
3.16: 44
4.12: 285, 285 n.111
4.48: 171 n.94
4.154: 47 n.85
5.1213: 249 n.11
7.9: 41 n.74
7.668: 42 n.76
8.5:208, 208 n.17
12.512: 46, 46 n.83
12.140: 270 n.65
12.20026: 176 n.106
15.2306: 171 n.94
15.233: 47, 47 n.85
15.254: 171 n.94
Lycurgus
1.31: 63, 63 n.123
1.43: 115 n.91
1.79: 188
1.845: 934
Index locorum
1.867: 945, 1278, 1437
1.889: 956, 1278, 1437
1.1024: 176 n.105, 177 n.109
Lysias
2.1819: 171
2.42: 46, 46 n.83
2.63: 27 n.21, 112
12.389: 230
12.59: 42 n.76
12.63: 47, 47 n.85, 104.
16.18f.: 226 n.65
18.16: 165 n.74
19.2: 208, 208 n.17
30.22: 42 n.76
30.28: 47, 47 n.85
Fragment
fr.1.5: 212, 212 n.32
Parmenides
DK 28 b1.2830: 148, 148 n.31, 281, 281
n.99
DK 28 b2:148, 148 n.31, 14850, 150 n.36
Dk 28 b6: 281, 281 n.99
DK 28 b8.502: 148, 148 n.32
DK 28 b19: 281, 281 n.99
Pausanias
1.19.6: 91, 91 n.23.
5.10: 95 n.37
7.10: 95 n.37
Pherecydes
FrGH 1.98.110: 98 n.21, 1145
Philochorus
328 FGrH f199: 56 n.113
Pindar
Nemeans
4.94: 89 n.146
7.930: 13, 13 n.39, 118 n.99
8.1944: 13, 13 n.39, 118 n.99
Olympians
6.86: 70 n.146
Fragment
fr. 179/169: 70 n.146
Plato
Charmides
173c: 260, 260 n.43
Gorgias
456b457b: 131, 131 n.133
456c6457c3: 3 n.12
463a464d: 218, 218 n.41
481d: 218, 218 n.41
482c486d: 182 n.126
493e7: 283 n.106
501d1502d8: 238 n.89
521a: 218. 218 n.41
Hippias Minor
365a1b5: 121
365cd: 35 n.51
327
365d9.: 121
368a9f.: 122
369d1371e8: 122
370e373c: 150, 150 n.39
373c3f.: 122
376b1c7: 122
Laches (La.)
190e5191e1: 25 n.16
Laws (Leg.)
1.633bc: 33 n.46
1.633d: 157
2.663d13: 160
2.663d510: 160
2.663e45: 160
2.663e9664a8: 161
5.738bc: 158 n.57
7.815a13: 77
7.916d-917b: 136
10.899d905c: 182, 182 n.125
11.916d917b: 175
Phaedrus (Phdr.)
259e1261a5: 218, 218 n.42
261a6262c4: 150, 150 n.38
Protagoras
324a326d: 185, 185 n.136
Republic (Resp.)
1.331b1c9: 131, 131 n.132, 136, 136
n.142, 151
1.331c59: 151
1.331cd: 111 n.84, 136, 136 n.142
1.343b344e: 182 n.126
2.359a367e: 182, 182 n.125, 185, 185
n.137
2.368b7c6: 2
2.377d9: 154
2.377e12: 154, 177, 177 n.110
2.382a1e11: 131, 131 n.132, 136, 136
n.141, 191f.
2.382a1b11: 1089
2.382a4d3: 153
2.382c6d3: 109
2.382c67: 154, 154 n.45
2.382.c89: 109, 153
2.382c10d2: 153, 154 n.43
2.382d5e11: 110
3.389b49: 1545
3.389c16: 155
3.393b1c11: 238 n.89
3.414b8415d5: 2, 51, 51 n.93, 109, 109
n.78, 152
3.414b8c1:136 n.141, 153
3.414b8415e4: 150 n.38, 152
3.414c4: 160
3.414c9: 158
3.414e5: 152
3.414e9: 158
3.415a47: 152, 162
328
Index locorum
3.415c8: 157
3.415d12: 161
4.435e6a: 43
8.547b: 160
8.548e4549a6: 43
8.549a7: 43
10.596d1: 238 n.89
10.598c1d6: 238 n.89
10.606e1: 176 n.105
Sophist
233e235a: 238 n.89
Symposium
203d: 213, 213 n.33
206d5: 223 n.55
208d46: 8992, 89 n.19
Plutarch
Agesilaus
8: 132, 132 n.135
20.2: 33 n.43
De Herodoti Malignitate
869f.: 48, 48 n.87
Demosthenes
15: 73 n.118
Lycurgus
6: 132, 132 n.135
13: 132, 132 n.135
1618: 33 n.42
28.17: 33, 33 n.46
Lysander
21: 42 n.76
Solon
21.4: 71, 71 n.151
Pollux
8.512: 56 n.113
10.128: 115, n.25
Satyrus
Life of Euripides
POxy. 1176, fr.39, ii, 814: 181 n.122
Sextus
Against the Schoolmasters (Adv. Math.)
9.24: 185, 185 n.140
9.54: 180, 180 n.115
Simonides
Fr. 55 Diehl (PMG fr. 93/598): 147, 147
n.24
Sophocles
Ajax
548: 36 n.58
1120: 25 n.16
Antigone
4712: 36 n.58
Electra
61: 199
774: 285, 285 n.112
Philoctetes
310: 191
14: 195
50120: 171 n.91
501: 195
82: 190
835: 195
8699: 196
905: 113 n.86
1035: 194
107: 196
108: 113 n.86, 196
11520: 193
191200: 192
31416: 1989
4212: 193
4357: 190 n.157
44652: 190 n.157
4756: 196
50718: 197
61013: 1923
1028: 191
10314: 191
111617: 197
11405: 196, 196 n.174, 197 n.175
1049: 194
1054f.: 192, 192 n.165
1244: 193
1246: 190
132442: 192
142144: 192
Trachiniae
27080: 29 n.30, 113 n.86
1102: 79, n.171
Theognis
734: 13, 285
11719: 285
11928: 240, 240 n.91, 285
21314: 13, 285
237254: 42 n.75
35964: 285
5712: 285
7014: 182 n.127
713: 146 n.20
96370: 285
10712: 13, 285
Thucydides
1.42: 34
1.903: 98, 98 n.45
1.133: 157, 157 n.51
1.135: 48
1.138.3: 489, 48 n.88, 48 n.90, 98 n.45
1.142: 27
2.13.68: 23
2.37.1: 778, 78 n.166
2.39.1: 269, 27 n.24, 30 n.36, 41 n.73
2.39.2: 27 n.22
2.40.2: 26 n.20
Index locorum
2.40.23: 167
2.42: 1112
2.62: 130, n.63
2.65.810: 218 n.41, 255
2.65.9: 81, 81 n.177
2.65.1013: 258
3.249: 248
3.34: 25 n.15, 98, 254
3.36.6: 248, 255
3.37.35: 167
3.37.45: 165 n.74
3.38.24: 168, 249
3.38.57: 249
3.38.7: 215
3.40.3: 249
3.42.12: 250
3.42.26: 168, 250
3.43.24: 168, 251
3.43.5: 251
3.49.1; 255
3.68.1: 31 n.39
3.82.1: 38
3.86: 282 n.105
3.91112: 97, 97 n.44
3.968: 25 n.14
3.112: 25 n.15
4.27.: 80, n.173
4.302: 25 n.15
4.80: 31 n.39, 157, 157 n.50
5.18.7: 31 n.39
5.45.3: 32
5.56.13: 31 n.39
8.47: 189, 189 n.150
8.812: 189, 189 n.150
Tyrtaeus
2.8: 132, 132 n.135
8.1113: 25 n.17
9.1519: 25 n.17
Xenophanes
DK 21 b1: 13, 13 n.40, 186
DK 21 b11: 13, 13 n.40
DK 21 b12: 13, 13 n.40
Xenophon
Agesilaus
1.17: 157, 157 n.50
Anabasis
4.6.1415: 33 n.42, 1356
4.6.1617: 1356
Constitution of the Spartans (Lac. Pol.)
2.69: 33 n.42
2.7: 33, 33 n.43
2.9: 37 n.61
329
8.6: 157, 157 n.55
Cyropaedia
1.1.16: 128
1.1.2: 130
1.3.3: 138
1.3.18: 138
1.4.3: 139
1.6.12.1.1: 12242
1.6.1626: 124
1.6.21: 137
1.6.22: 137
1.6.26: 124
1.6.27: 124
1.6.28: 124
1.6.2931: 125
1.6.31: 131
1.6.323: 125
1.6.34: 1267
1.6.3540: 126
1.6.389: 138 n.144, 139
2.2.12: 260, 260 n.43
3.1.3840: 139, n.148
7.5.3758: 138, 138 n.144
8.1.41: 138
8.3.1: 138, 138 n.144
8.5.24: 138
Hellenica
1.6.36f.: 157, 157 n.52
1.7.35: 523, 52 n.97
2.4.28: 42 n.76
3.3.811: 157, 157 n.51
4.3.13f.: 157, 157 n.52
4.8.10: 100, n.51
Hipparchicus (Hipparch.)
1.8: 127, 127 n.20
5.811: 1312
Memorabilia
1.1.19: 182, 182 n.125, 185, 185 n.141
1.4.1821: 182, 182 n.125, 185, 185 n.141
1.7.5: 260, 260 n.43
2.1.4: 73
2.2.17: 172 n.96
4.2.35: 168 n.87
4.2.1419.: 111, 131, 131 n.131, 136, 136
n.141, 151
4.4.21: 182, 182 n.125, 185, 185 n.141
4.6: 35 n.53
Symposium
3.56: 177 n.109
4.64: 35 n.53
[Xenophon] (The `Old Oligarch')
Constitution of the Athenians (Ath. Pol.)
2.1: 27 n.22
Index
accountability, 81
Achilles,
in Homer, 195
in Plato, 1212
in Sophocles, 195
advantage-taking, see pleonexia
Aeschines, 20717, 23140, 294
admits ability, 211
denes good rhetor, 2167
on Ctesiphon's non-normative lies,
2346
on Demosthenes' mimetic lying, 2312
on Demosthenes' mimicry, 226
on Demosthenes' sophistry, 208, 211,
214, 216
on Demosthenes' technai, 2078
on Demosthenes' tongue, 211
Aeschines: works,
Against Ctesiphon, 211, 21617, 2326
Against Timarchus, 214
On the Embassy, 207, 2312
Aeschylus, 119, 143, 1078
Ajax,
in Antisthenes, 11921
in Pindar, 118
in Sophocles, 118
alazoneia (charlatanry, being an
impostor), 2323, 261
Alcibiades, 312, 189
aletheia (`truth'),
and lethe, 1459
and Parmenides, 14950
and Plato, 14551, 162
archaic conceptions of, 1457, 14950
Detienne's interpretation of, 14551
in Aeschines, 216, 2326
in Demosthenes, 229
in oratory, 239
laicization of, 146
Anaximenes of Lampsacus, 21012
Andocides
and persuasion, 1701
330
Index
on disguise, 2602, 2669
on attering rhetoric, 2568, 263, 270
1, 28990
on sovereignty of demos, 28991
parody of Telephus, 2629, 271
supposed persecution, 264
Aristophanes, works:
Acharnians, 25874
Babylonians, 264
Clouds, 267
Knights, 2558, 28991
Lysistrata, 37
Aristotle,
and rhetoric, 3, 2179, 291
on physiognomic deceit, 225
on probolai against deceit, 535
on proof, 285
on Spartan training, 37, 133
Athena Apaturia, 30 n.34
Athens,
its ideology of `openness', 2332
and identity, 2084
as `surveillance culture', 2219
and `face-to-face' society, 224, 22830
comic vision of, 25874
see also `democracy, Athenian'
`banausic' activity, 121, 136
Barrett, M., 144
Baudrillard, J., 2968
`Black Hunter', the, 2930, 86102
Blair, Tony, 202
Bologna kylix, 912, 11516
Bourdieu, P., 62, n.122, 17718
Bowie, A., 213
Bradford, A., 312
Bruce, Ian, 204
Burkert, W., 213
Busolt G., 107
Buxton, R., 1701
Callaghan, James, 174
Cambyses, 12241
Chomsky, N., 2968
Christ, M., 535
Churchill, Winston, 856
City Dionysia, 82
Cleon, 80, 1678, 24859, 2634, 28990
Clinton, Bill and Hillary, 2437
cunning intelligence (metis), 1011
see also `Themistocles', `Odysseus',
`Codrus'
curse against deceiving the demos, 634
Codrus, 89102, 11418
his ruse in Hellanicus, 8992
331
in Lycurgus, 936
on kylix vase, 912, 11518
signicance of his trickery, 11518
Collard, C., 284
commonplaces, see `topoi'
Conon, 459, 1046
crime detection,
and curses, 188
as philosophical topic, 182, 182 nn.125
6
as theme in the Sisyphus, 1828
Critias, 17985
Cyrus, 12241
Darius vase, 1078
Davies, M., 1812
De Jong, I., 66
deception,
against enemies, 8542
and `the other', 2923
and Athenian paideia, 1759
and comedy, 25574
and deliberation, 1669
and democratic constitution, 1639
and ephebeia, 30, 292
and fear, 11013
and hunting images, 734, 12242
and pedagogy, 12242
and physiognomics, 2217
and sophistry, 195, 20421, 2678
and topoi, 22731
and tragedy, 6484, 147, 1834, 188
202, 27489
anthropological study of, 79, 212
as `banausic', 121, 136
as `unheroic', 11213, 1978
Asiatic form of, 723
association with rhetoric, 20291
in modern democracies, 13, 2025
in Second World War, 203, 856
in the agora, 163 n.70
negotiability of, 1057, 11618
opposed to `hoplitism', 2339, 923,
11418, 121, 1978
personication of, 1078
relationship to `truth', 146
staged detections of, 21941
suspicion of, 2508
deinotes legein (cleverness at speaking),
2115, 279
democracy, Athenian,
and `noble lies', 13, 156, 16379
and its oratory, 20941
and persuasion, 1478
and social drama, 2089, 227
332
Index
Dihle, A. 181
Dinarchus, 1645
Diodotus, 168, 24858
Dissoi Logoi, the, 1512
dolos, 711, 1701, 1989,
Dover, K., 1812
doxa (seeming, opinion, reputation) 711,
67, 14751, 239, 27983, 285
drinking song, 2856
Du Boulay, J., 78
eisangelia, 512
ephebeia
aetiological myth of, 2930, 869
and military trickery, 869, 1001
association with deception, 30, 292
ephebic deception in tragedy, 645
ephebic oath, 25 n.17, 29
Euripides,
and counterfeit coins, 2846
and `good ction', 1856
as self-reexive, 247
association with sophistry, 2678, 274
5
contemporary resonances, 6484, 288
9
depiction of Theseus, 2769
forensic language in, 277, 2879
Gorgianic elements in, 2813
Hecuba's rhetoric in, 2834
on deceit and fear, 11213
on doxa and deception, 27983
on generals, 7984
on (im)materiality of lies, 283, 2869
on lie-detection, 240, 27786
on rhetoric of anti-rhetoric, 247, 274
89, 294
on Spartans, 6484, 27983
on `two voices', 2779, 2856
plays parodied in Aristophanes, 2658
possible authorship of Sisyphus, 1805
role in Acharnians, 2678
Euripides: works,
Andromache, 6484, 27983, 293
doxa in, 27983
fth-century resonances, 67, 71
on Spartans, 678, 702
unity of, 658,
Electra, 11213, 1856, 284
Hecuba, 689, 2834
Heracles Furens, 284
Hippolytus, 2759
Medea, 240, 247, 2845
Supplices, 349
Telephus, 2659
Troades, 1834
Index
false witnessing, 163, 163 n.70
fear of the enemy, 11013
ction,
and paideia, 1779
archaic notions of, 1467, 147 n.20
as apate, 1467, 147 nn.215
as `good lying' 1769
as social benet, 1828
modern, 242
popular notions of, 1769
problematised in Sisyphus, 1828
First World War, 86
Fish, S., 1719
Foley, H., 2714
Foucault, M. 118, 1435
generals (strategoi ), 803
attacked in Andromache, 7980,
293
pre-classical representation, 80
their licence to deceive, 834, 152
Gill, C., 1779, 1867
goeteia (`wizardry'), 21213, 232, 287
Go, B., 278, 286
Goman, E., 242
Gorgias
and ekplexis, 250
and Euripides, 2813
and magic, 213
and Thucydides, 250
Encomium of Helen, 147, 170 n.90, 171,
2813
his denition of doxa, 147 n.27, 2813,
297
his view of tragedy, 147
on peitho, 170 n.90, 171, 282
role within fth-century enlightenment,
14751, 2813
theory of apate, 1467, 2823
Guildford Four, the, 289
Gulf War, 2968
Hall, E., 73
Hansen, M., 51
Harding P., 100
Heath, M., 2734
Hellanicus, 11517
Hermes, 35
Hermione, 6873
Herodotus, 15, 31, 51
Herzfeld, M., 810
Hesiod, 1113, 146, 161
Hippocratic corpus, 36, 389, 68 n.142
Hippolytus, 2759, 2859
Hitchens, C., 297
Hitler, Adolf, 203
333
Homer,
and deceit, 1113, 113, 118
view of ambushes, 113
Odysseus in, 1113, 118, 1212, 152,
195, 1989
and `ction', 1213, 146, 1767, 242
hoplites
number of in Athens, 234
tactics opposed to deception, 246, 32,
121, 1978
ideology of, 249, 32, 11518, 1978
oath taken by, 25, n.17, 29, 189
hunting, 734, 12242, 12830
Hyperides, 240
Isocrates, 213, 238
isonomia, 62, 82
Johnson, L., 253
Jones, J. 2789
just war, theory of, 85
Kitto, H., 667
Kovacs, D., 67
law, Athenian
against deceit, 5163
deceptive use of, 2346
on impeachment, 56
on wealth display 71, 71 n.151
symbolic meaning, 623
Lesky, A., 66
logography (speech-writing), 20915, 217
Loraux, N., 268, 30
Lucas, D., 656
Lycurgus' Against Leocrates
assumption of hoplite terms, 115
on Codrus' deceit, 93102
on divine sanctions, 188
Lycurgus (Spartan law-giver), 1578
Lysias
and topoi, 2301
on persuasion, 171
on Themistocles and Theramenes, 104
Lysias, works:
Against Eratosthenes, 230
Funeral Speech, 171
Macleod, C., 253
Major, John, 202
Mandelson, Peter, 204
materiality,
in Euripides, 283, 2869
in Plato, 162
of discourse, 1445, 162, 283, 2869
Maugham, Viscount, 203
334
Index
Peleus, 6688
Pericles,
on deceit, 2640, 86
on deliberation, 167
persuasion ( peitho), 14851, 160, 1701,
219, 2823
Phaedra, 2759
pharmacological lying, 109, 1536, 159
Philoctetes, 190201
physiognomics, 2217, 2367
Pilger, J., 2968
Pindar, 13, 118, 176
Plato,
and autochthony, 1602
and Detienne, 14551, 162
and ethical falsehood, 1778
and `ction', 1534, 1778
and Foucault, 1435
and magic, 213
and mimesis, 147, 238
and `Myth of Metals', 1524, 15962
and pharmacological lying, 1536, 159
62
and `Phoenician' lies, 1601
and rhetoric: 35, 144, 1612, 21719,
238, 291, 294
and Sparta, 1579
and story-telling, 1534, 177
and the `noble lie', 35, 1435, 15063,
194, 293
and totalitarianism, 13, 1556, 159
and `will to truth', 1435, 150
lie in words and `true lie', 10811, 136
nn.1412, 153, 1778, 197
on social contract, 185
use of `common-sense', 1569
Plato, works:
Hippias Minor, 1212, 150
Laws, 136, 15762
Phaedrus, 150
Protagoras, 185
Republic, 15162, 185
pleonexia, 12241
poikilia, 369
pollution, 191
Popper, K., 13, 145, 1501, 155, 171,
240
Powell, A., 1578
Pratt, L., 1789, 1867
pre-Socratic thought, 144, 14951
Primary Colors, 2437, 274
Pritchett, W. K., 67, 1023
problematisation, 141
Prodicus, 186
proklesis, 5861
pyrrhic dances, 77
Index
reciprocity, 147
rhetoric
and philosophy, 1445
as attery, 24950, 2568
as `spin', 2027
as technology, 2049
in Aristotle, 3, 21719
in modern politics, 2029, 2437
in Plato, 21719
modern conceptions of, 35, 1435,
2948
of `anti-spin', 2057
of anti-rhetoric, 20288
theory of, 149, 21719
see also `anti-rhetoric' and `spin'
Rhodes, P., 51
rumour ( pheme), 22830
Ruschenbusch, E., 567
satyr drama, 17988
schema (`semblance') 2219, 260
Scodel, R., 1824
Second World War, 203, 856
self-exposing lies, 23241, 253
self-reexivity, 2078, 208 n.16
Simonides, 147
Sisyphus, 17988
Sisyphus, the, 17988
Popper's interpretation of, 179
authorship of, 17982
doxography on, 17983
Slater, N., 2714
`sleaze', 2025
sophistry,
accusations of, 21217
and `ction', 1467
in Aristophanes, 260, 2678
in Euripides, 277, 2878
in Plato, 260
in Sophocles, 189, 195
in Xenophon, 1312, 135, 260
used by Fish, 1718
vignettes of, 21315
Sophocles, 118, 188201
Sophocles: works
Philoctetes, 188201, 293
Electra, 201
sophrosune, 2239, 275
Sparta
agoge, 3036, 132
and `noble lie' in Plato, 1579
and ocial deceit, 1579, 1712
as alluded to in the Cyropaedia,
1323
cheese-stealing, 37
education system, 3240, 1324
335
krupteia, 30, 334, 36, 132
rhetra, 1323
Spartans
duplicitous and savage, 378
in Aristophanes' Acharnians, 2667
in Euripides' Andromache, 667, 712,
293
stereotyped as deceitful, 312
Spence, I., 115
spin and spin-doctors, 2027, 213, 241,
2437
`surveillance culture', 2219
Sutton, D., 181
sycophants, 535, 212, 227
textualism, 1518
Themistocles
as discussed in oratory, 468, 1047
as paradigm of metis, 48, 978
compared with Conon, 468, 1046
compared with Theramenes, 104
ruse against the Spartans, 467, 98
ruse at Salamis, 48 n.85
Theognis, 13, 240, 2856
Theseus, 2759, 2849
Thucydides,
and `anti-rhetoric', 247, 24958
funeral speech, 2640, 86, 11112, 167
on empire, 2524
on generals' ruses, 979
on Mytilenean debate, 1678, 215,
24858
on paradox of honest liar, 2508
on Spartan lies, 1578
political outlook, 2478, 291
on Post-Periclean demagogues, 255,
2578
Todorov, T., 271
Too, Y. L., 138
topoi, 1656, 2201, 22731, 240
and interplay with creative strategy,
1659, 206, 21415, 2401
in Aristophanes, 2701
of `as you all know' in oratory, 22730
of inexperience, 2089, 216, 287
orators' deconstruction of, 22731
tragedy,
and Athenian ideology, 65, 65 n.129, 78
and contemporary resonances, 68, 68
n.141, 189, 2201
and deception, 6484, 11213, 188
201
and divine framework, 184, 190
and ction, 176, 1834
and `noble lie', 1834, 188201
and rhetoric, 2478
336
Index